


Love at First Science Part Deux - Christmas in Paris

by thecirclesquare



Series: Love At First Science [2]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 47,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4058833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecirclesquare/pseuds/thecirclesquare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU set in Paris. Sequel to "Love at First Science" so read that first. Cosima/Delphine, Cophine</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I woke up in a sweat. I had been dreaming about Cosima again. It was the kind of dream that left a hunger inside me, one that didn't originate in my stomach but somewhere deep inside my chest. It was the kind of hunger that I felt from my abdomen to the roof of my mouth, the kind of hunger that ached and could not be stretched out or shaken away easily.

I sat up in my bed and reached for my phone, turning it on, finding Cosima's name, typing out my frustration as fast as my sleepy fingers could go, and then reading her last text and remembering that she was on a plane, on her way to one of those states in the middle of the country that I couldn't remember the name of, on her way to spend the holidays with her family.

At the moment, my girlfriend was completely unreachable, and my hunger, completely insatiable.

"Merde!" I said to the darkness.

I went to the bathroom to get a drink and to splash some water on my face. I turned the light on, and was surprised at my own reflection. My skin was dry and there were dark circles under my eyes, the results of too many restless nights. I took a long drink, gulping the water down until I was breathless.

"This is killing me," I said to myself.

Myself looked back at me in sympathy, but there was nothing we could do. Well, there was one thing we could do.

I sighed and looked at my reflection's hands, leaning on the cool countertop. I looked at my own shoulders and chest, at the curve of my own breasts, which showed through my t-shirt. No, Cosima's t-shirt. I turned my chin to the left and to the right, imagining Cosima's hands wrapping around me from behind. I closed my eyes and leaned forward, almost feeling her up against my back, almost hearing her breath, catching a whiff of that baby powder smell that still rose up from her t-shirt. I pushed my hips against the counter and leaned some more, until I was nearly bent over.

I leaned right into my glass, sending it rolling across the counter, splashing water all over the front of myself. I jumped back, catching the glass and the surprised look in my reflection's face. We both laughed.

"I guess it's just you and me tonight," I said. "Again."

My reflection sighed. "Merde!"

This kind of night had become my usual. Even though it had been more than five months since I left San Francisco, even though I was up to my eyeballs in work, racing to meet deadlines on my thesis, even though I kept myself busy, working myself into the ground, hoping that exhaustion would be enough to put me into a dreamless sleep, even despite all of that, I still dreamed of Cosima, almost every night.

In the first few weeks, I was grateful. I would wake up and let myself linger in the lovely aching of my body and heart, and dream of the day when I could return to her little Christmas apartment in San Francisco and share that bottle of Alpha Omega that I had left behind. After all, she had promised not to open it without me.

And it was all set. I already had my ticket for December 20th. I was on track to jet across the Atlantic to America - America being San Francisco, because as far as I was concerned, that city contained the entirety of things that mattered to me in the entire country. We were supposed to spend Christmas together.

But then, life has a way of pulling you along at unexpected angles.

I got an offer, an opportunity that I couldn't resist.

My professor, white-bearded and rosy-cheeked, made the offer while I was sitting in his office. We had just finished up reviewing the last notes of my thesis project, and he set the papers neatly in my manila folder, sliding it across the desk toward me purposefully.

"Now then," he started as he crossed his hands in front of himself. "About this winter holiday. Do you have plans?"

"Yes!" I said, slipping the file into my briefcase. "I'm going to California!"

"California? Really?" he said. He smiled like he was happy for me, but the tone in his voice could only be described as disappointed. "Wow. That's really something. Do you have family there?"

"Well, no," I said, unsure how I should label Cosima. "Not really. I'm visiting a friend. A very good friend."

"That's unfortunate," he said, tapping his index fingers on his desk.

"Why?" I said.

"Because I'm going to Kenya this holiday," he said. "I'm going with the people from End 7. You're familiar with the organization?"

"Yes, of course," I said. "End 7 is a non-profit organization that aims to irradicate seven diseases from the planet by 2020, "

"Yes, that's the one," he said. "Anyway, I was invited to tag along to see the work they are doing down in Kenya, and they said I could bring an associate with me."

"Uh-huh," I said, already knowing where this conversation was going, and already knowing the decision that was waiting just up ahead.

"And," he continued, "With all the work you have been doing on host-parasite relationships, I thought you'd be an excellent candidate. So what do you say?"

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "The perfect candidate? Me?"

"Unless you can think of someone better," he said, standing up and circling around to the front of the desk.

"No, no," I said. "I can't think of anyone better. It is a wonderful opportunity. Perfect, actually. It's just, I've already made arrangements."

"Look," he said, reaching his hand out toward me. "You're my first choice, but there is no pressure. I'll send over the trip itinerary and you can look it over, see if it fits in with your plans."

"Yes, that's a good idea," I said, standing up and shaking his hand.

How am I going to tell Cosima? I thought.

"Mademoiselle Cormier," he said, leading me to the door. "You've done good work this term. You should feel proud of yourself. This trip would just be the icing on the cake of an already great year."

She is going to be so disappointed.

"Yes," I said, following him but not really listening to what he was saying. "Thank you."

"Good. Get a good night's rest," he said, leading me to the door. "And let me know your decision a little later in the week."

Maybe there's still a chance, I thought. Maybe I can do both.

"Yes, I will," I said, but my mind was racing with the possibilities, both good and bad.

Then he closed the door behind me, leaving me standing in the hallway, a baffled expression on my face, like a computer that does not compute, until another woman passed by and asked if I was okay. I smiled and said I was, but there was a knot forming in my stomach, an ache forming in my chest, because I already knew what my decision would be.

Ever since I broke the bad news to Cosima, though; ever since I told her I wouldn't able to share that bottle of cabernet sauvignon this Christmas; ever since she looked down at her hands and got real quiet and still, so still that I thought my webcam had frozen; ever since she looked up at me and smiled, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes and then shaking her head, as if rejecting her own disappointment, as if saying no to her own sadness; ever since she promised me it was okay, we could meet in the Spring and the weather would be better anyway; ever since then, I haven't had a single, good night's sleep.

Most nights, like that one, I would wake up with the image of Cosima's lips burned onto the insides of my eyelids, so that I could still see her above me in the dark. Then I'd second guess myself. Then I'd text her ask if I was making the right decision.

"This is a great opportunity," she'd write. "This is what you have been working toward for forever! I can't let you miss it. You're totally doing the right thing!"

"Then why don't I dream of Kenya?" I'd write. "Why do I only dream of you?"

Then she'd send me an emoticon or a picture of herself and say something cheesy like, "Because I'm dreamy."

It went like that for three weeks, me freaking out, and her reassuring me, and then me wondering why she was the one doing all the reassuring. When did I turn the tables on her?

But at that moment, she was on an airplane, on her way to her aunt's house where she said she would be M.I.A. for a few days. And at that moment, I was laying on my bed, my shirt wet and my body aching, looking forward to tomorrow, because she promised that no matter what family dramas or crises that may be going on around her, she would find a webcam, she would log on to skype and we would open the gifts we had mailed to each other. It would be our own international Christmas, a few days early, but still, our very own.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, I opened my eyes with a start. I had woken up without an alarm. I didn't need one. I was too excited.

I had the whole day planned out, right up until 8 PM, which is when I would return to my apartment and park myself in front of my computer and wait for Cosima's call. She picked the time, saying that she would be six hours behind Paris time, saying that she could probably sneak away from her family in the afternoon, when everyone was laid out on recliners, waiting for dinnertime to come around so they would have a reason to gather again and converse.

As for me, first I would make myself a simple breakfast of coffee and a croissant. Then I'd finish up my packing, as I was set to depart for Kenya the next day, December 23rd. Then, after double-checking everything, I'd run out to meet my friend, Celeste, for lunch. In the afternoon, I had an appointment at the hair salon, because even though I wasn't meeting Cosima in person, I still wanted to look my best when I talked to her. After all, I wasn't sure when we'd get the chance to see each other again. Finally, I'd meet my parents for an early dinner in order to celebrate Christmas and to say goodbye before my trip.

I had made myself intentionally busy, because I knew the last day before my trip would be the hardest to bear.

For the most part, the first half of my day went pretty well. The coffee and croissant were easy. The packing went smoothly, too, considering I had already packed and repacked twice. In fact, I had everything packed in suitcases and set by the front door by eleven o'clock, just in time to step out for my lunch appointment.

I took the metro to Les Halles, where I met Celeste at the cafe of her choosing. As I approached the cafe from across the street, I felt a tinge of confusion as I saw the Australian flag and read the name on the sign, Le Café Oz. I shrugged my shoulders and hurried across the street.

When I got inside, Celeste was already seated at a table.

"What's with the Australian theme?" I said, taking my coat off as I sat down.

"It's in honor of you, you know?" she said.

"In honor of me?" I said. "I don't understand."

"In honor of your new relationship!" she said, grinning like school girl with a secret.

I had finally told her about Cosima only recently, when I was still debating whether to go to California or Kenya. Ever since then, it was the only thing she wanted to talk about.

"Cosima is American, not Australian," I said.

"Oh," Celeste said, looking around the cafe. "Well, it's close enough anyway."

"In what way?" I said.

"Well, you know, where was I going to take you for lunch? McDonald's?" she said.

I decided to let it drop as the waitress approached to take our orders, but after she was gone, Celeste brought up Cosima's name, her hand half covering her mouth, as if the other patrons might recognize the name, as if they might automatically know that Celeste was going to ask something racy.

"So," she whispered. "What's it like?"

I took a sip of my water before replying, "What's what like?"

"You know," she said, "being with a woman?"

"I don't know," I said, suddenly lowering my voice, suddenly wondering if the other patrons were, in fact, listening in on our conversation. "You watch television. I'm sure you can guess."

"Well," she said, "television isn't real life. Straight people on television aren't like straight people in real life. Television cops aren't like real cops. So why should lesbians be any different?"

"I don't know," I said, shrugging my shoulders and lying. "It's the same as being with a man."

"That's bullshit, Delphine Cormier!" she said in a whisper-shout.

"Oh, come on, Celeste," I said. "Be polite."

She leaned back a little, relenting in the slightest, but I could tell she wasn't quite done giving me the third degree.

"Hmm," she said. "You told me right away that that Josh guy was a bad kisser."

"Yes!" I said. "He was terrible! Don't remind me."

"So, Cosima's a good kisser?" she said.

I didn't answer because the waitress brought our food, set it in front of us and asked us if we needed anything else. I said no thanks, brushing my hair from my face, and biting my lip in embarrassment. As soon as she was gone, I looked up to find Celeste watching my every move, eyes wide and mouth smirking.

"So?" she said to me. "Is she?"

I rolled my eyes at her and looked down at my salad, because I really didn't know what to say.

"She is!" Celeste shouted. "I knew it! I knew she was good because you didn't say anything about her, and you always say something, you always have something to complain about."

"That's not true," I said.

"Yes, it is, but that's beside the point," she said, taking a bite of her baguette.

She thought for a moment and I looked down at my food.

"So," she started again.

This time she leaned over the table toward me.

"How is the, you know, sex?" she said, not bothering to whisper anymore.

"Shhhh!" I said.

"Oh, don't be a prude," she said. "Is it good?"

Is it good? I thought to myself. Is it good?

Her question struck a chord somewhere inside me, sending me vibrating back in time, back to the San Francisco hotel room with the balcony that overlooked the Golden Gate Bridge. A series of images flashed in my mind; Cosima swearing in French; Cosima giggling before me as she pulled me to the bed; Cosima laying on her back, knees up, arm raised over her head, her pretty mouth smiling from beneath her elbow. Then, even faster, I remembered the first time she touched my bare chest; the first time I tasted her salty fingertips; the first time she had me on the verge of orgasm and I didn't know whether to come or cry.

All of this, I remembered in a moment, and still I didn't know how to answer the question.

All of this, was going on inside my mind, but on the outside, I kept my head down, playing with my salad, pushing the cherry tomatoes around and avoiding Celeste's eyes. I felt a lump forming in my throat, so that even if I wanted to answer her, it wouldn't be easy.

"Delphine?" she said.

She must have sensed something was wrong, because she slid her hand across the table and placed it on top of mine.

"I'm sorry, Delphine," she said. "You know I can be a jerk sometimes. I was only teasing."

I looked up at her and smiled a sad smile. I didn't know why I was suddenly so sad, but I guessed it had something to do with loneliness and love.

"It's really good," I said quietly, wiping the beginnings of tears from my eyes. Then I laughed at myself, laughed at the idea of myself crying in a restaurant, in front of Celeste, over another woman. Who would have thought?

She laughed with me. We laughed together, drawing the attention of the tables closest to us. When our laughter had subsided and the threat of impending tears had passed. We were quiet for a moment.

"The sex is really good," I said, finally.

"Well, that's a good thing, right?" she said, squeezing my hand once and then letting go.

"Yeah," I said. "That's a good thing. It's the best thing, actually. And possibly the worst thing."

"Wow," Celeste said, "that's deep."

She leaned back in her chair and sighed. "You're completely over the moon in love with this woman, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I said. "Yes."

"I envy you," she said.

I laughed and nodded my head, but I wasn't really sure how my situation was enviable.

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks for meeting me. I didn't think I could bear this day alone."

"Hey," she said. "What are friends for? Besides, this whole Kenya thing will be over before you know it. Besides, I bet spring will be beautiful in San Francisco, right?"

"Yes, I guess so," I said, sitting up straighter. "You're right. Let's look at the bright side."

"Yes," she said. "That's the spirit! And there is a huge bright side to all of this, you know."

"What's that?"

"You're in love," she said with a sympathetic smile.

Maybe she knew - maybe we both knew - that being in love does not equate being out of pain.


	3. Chapter 3

I left Celeste on the corner, with a hug and a promise to send a postcard from Kenya. She hugged me and patted my shoulder, saying that everything would be alright, and maybe it was just the sun glaring off of a car window or the snow, but I think she winked at me. I shrugged and said that I hoped it would, then I left her, heading straight to the salon for my hair appointment, still feeling a little down.

When I arrived at the salon, Anton, my stylist, greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks.

"Ma cherie, where have you been?" he said.

"I know, I know. It's been too long," I said. "I've been buried in work. And I'm in need of some beautification."

"Oh, please," he said. "You're one of those natural beauties that make me sick!"

"Stop it," I said, sitting in his chair and catching my reflection in the mirror. I still looked tired, but my cheeks were rosy from the cold.

"So," he said. "Should we try something new?"

"No, no," I said. "Just a trim. I don't want any surprises tonight."

"Tonight?" he said, with his hands in my hair, and his eyes on my face. "What's tonight? A big date?"

I squirmed in my chair, but my blushing face gave me away.

"Oh! How exciting!" he said, reaching for his scissors. "It's good to know that my work won't be wasted. Is it the American, what was his name?"

"No," I said. "Well, yes, an American, but not the one you know about, not Josh."

"Where are you meeting all of these Americans?" he said.

"In America, actually," I said. "This one I met in San Francisco."

"Wait a minute!" he said. "When were you in San Francisco?"

"Well, I went there to visit Josh's family, and then..." I said, looking down at my lap as my words trailed off.

"You little bitch!" he said, hitting my arm playfully with the comb. "You dumped him in his hometown?"

"Sort of," I said, laughing at myself in the mirror. "Well, yes, completely."

"This new guy must be superb!" he said.

"Yes," I said, looking back down at my lap, twiddling my fingers together beneath my polyester robe.

Is this the part where I'm supposed to come out? I thought.

"Ma cherie," he said, with his hand on his waist. "If he's so superb, why do you look so down?"

What's the big deal? Anton is gay. He won't even care.

I took a deep breath, but I couldn't look up.

"Well, it wasn't a man," I said into my chest. "I left him for a woman."

He inhaled loudly, leaning back, hand on his chest, eyes wide in a pantomime of shock.

"Oh! How scandalous!" he said.

But then his posture melted back to normal, and he leaned forward and smiled at me in the mirror.

"Welcome to the club," he whispered into my ear.

"Thanks," I said, sitting up a little straighter.

"But you're right," he said. "You have to look flawless because women are on a whole other level. They notice everything!"

"You don't have to worry too much," I said. "As long as I look good on camera."

"On camera?" he said.

"Yes," I said. "The American is still in America, which is only about five thousand miles away."

"Oh no! Long distance?" he said.

I shook my head in agreement. "Yes," I said. "We have a Skype date tonight."

"So, what you are trying to say is, I should focus on your face and forget about the back? Well, that makes things easier!"

"Right," I said, laughing.

"Well, don't you worry. I'll take good care of you," he said as his brows furrowed in concentration.

He worked his magic, just as he promised to do, and at the end, he even made his assistant take a photo of us together on this phone.

"So I can brag about you," he said to me with a smile.

"Thank you so much," I said, leaving him with two more kisses on the cheek.

"It's my pleasure, cherie," he said. "And let me know how it goes."

"Of course," I said, leaving the salon feeling lighter, happier, and as feisty as a fox.


	4. Chapter 4

Still feeling feisty, and still having time to kill before I had to meet my parents for dinner, I strolled through Les Halles, looking in the windows of cafes and shops, catching my own reflection every now and then. Anton was right. He had taken good care of me. My hair looked extra shiny in the shop windows and the smell of salon chemicals swirled around my head, boosting my self-esteem, adding that extra bounce to my step as I strutted down the street.

The weather was nice, not too cold, and the sky was a wonderful, deep shade of blue, broken up by a few buoyant clouds moving briskly on the wind.

It was such a pleasant day and I was in such a pleasant mood that I continued walking, right past the long walls of the Louvre, over the gray waters of the Seine and into the busy courtyard in front of Notre Dame.

Usually, I avoided such touristy places, but that day I was drawn to the large crowds of people, the young families, the happy couples, the bickering couples, the old couples that moved so slow they had to stop to take a rest every few paces. I guess I just wanted to be surrounded by them, by these strangers. I guess I didn't want to be alone.

I walked up to the front of the cathedral and gazed up at the facade of saints and I wondered if the the hierarchy in heaven was really so complex. The cold, stone walls and high ceilings had never really been a comfort to me as a child, though my parents often took me to church and assured me of God's love. I remember not quite believing them. My impression of God, then and even to this day, was that of someone very big, mysterious and easily changeable, perhaps not really meant to be trusted because his affections had always seemed finicky and his reactions extreme.

I felt a cool chill and took a step away from the main entrance, glancing once into the dark interior, but not entering.

One unexpected comfort of that bustling courtyard with all its tourists was all the English language. It came at me from all sides, children playing, adults deciphering maps, tour guides offering up tidbits of information, all of them speaking in English, as if we weren't standing in the middle of Paris after all. I let the sound swirl around me as I pulled the collar of my coat up around my neck. I thought, for a moment, that when all the accents and voices ran together, when I opened my ears and listened to them all at once, they would combine together in such a way, their resonant frequencies blending and reinforcing each other, until finally, I thought I heard her voice.

Delphine.

I turned my head, but no one was there. I was playing tricks on myself. I shook off another chill and decided to move along. I headed toward Rue Saint-Jacques, with my head down, because the hairs on the back of my neck were still standing up.

"Excuse me," someone said in English.

I turned to see an older woman, her hair trimmed short and dyed black. She was motioning for another woman to hurry up and join her. The other woman had black-skin and salt and pepper hair which she had tied up underneath a little hat. She smiled at me, taking small steps toward us.

"Yes?" I said.

"Are you from around here?" the woman said, taking the shorter woman's arm in her own, helping her along.

"Yes," I said. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, please," said the woman. "We're trying to get to the Eiffel Tower."

"The Eiffel Tower?" I said.

"Yep, I heard that's what you're supposed to do when you come to Paris," she said with a smile, her cheeks rosey and her eyes the color of the Seine.

"Yes, of course," I said with a laugh.

"Well, it wouldn't happen to be close, would it?" she said.

"No," I said, sorry to impart the bad news. "It's quite far from here, actually. You wouldn't be able to walk."

"I was afraid you were going to say that," the taller woman said.

"Even if it was just around the corner, we wouldn't be able to walk," said the shorter woman. She patted her friend's arm as she laughed at her own joke.

"Well, you can catch a taxi," I said.

"A taxi, huh?" the taller woman said.

"Or, I can show you to the metro stop," I said.

The two women regarded each other for a moment, not saying anything, but just looking at each other for a long while, as if communicating through some secret language, one that involved the patting of their hands together, and the twitching of their lips. Finally, the taller woman looked at me.

"I don't think the metro would be so good for her hip," she said.

"Right, of course," I said.

"If we were to take a taxi, which direction would we go?" she said.

"Let me catch one for you," I said.

"Oh no, dear, you don't have to do that, just point us in the right direction," she said.

"Oh, please, it's my pleasure," I said.

We walked together, slowly, because that was their only speed. The dark-haired woman walked next to me, chatting about their travel plans, where they had been, where they were going, and the white-haired woman would trail off behind us, until we stopped and waited, calling, "I'll be right there! Don't worry about me!"

"It's our thirtieth anniversary," the taller woman said while we waited.

Anniversary!? I thought.

I could not contain my happiness at this disclosure, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere inside me.

"Congratulations!" I said. "Congratulations! Thirty years, wow!"

"Yep," she continued, her head up proudly. "We've been saving money for this trip for nearly just as long. It's always been Lucy's dream to come to Paris. Hasn't it, Lucy?"

"What's that, Doris?" Lucy hollered as she approached.

"It's been your dream to come to Paris, hasn't it?" she repeated. "To go up that Eiffel Tower."

"Oh yeah!" she said, smiling and reaching for the taller woman's arm. "I'm gonna climb every step, even if it takes all night!"

"There's an elevator," I said.

"I came all the way here," Lucy said. "I'm gonna take every step myself."

"She's a little on the stubborn side," Doris said. "Can you tell?"

I laughed and said I did.

Being such a busy spot, there were already other passengers lined up and waiting for taxis. We weren't going anywhere fast.

"So, I'm guessing you're American," I said, making small talk to pass the time.

"How'd you guess that?" Doris said, nudging me with her elbow.

I laughed. "Where in the states are you from?" I said.

"We're from right in the middle," she said, "from a place called Iowa that you've probably never heard of."

Ah-ha! I thought. Iowa! That's the name of the state! Cosima is in Iowa!

"Iowa?" I said.

"Yeah," she said. "Have you heard of it?"

"Yes," I said. "Actually, I have. My...eh...my girlfriend... is there right now."

Both of the women raised their thin eyebrows at the same time, then they looked at each other and smiled.

"She's a lucky girl," Lucy said, smiling so big that her irises disappeared behind the wrinkles of her eyes.

"No, no," I said. "I'm the lucky one."

When it was our turn, I put them in the back of the taxi, then leaned into the front window to give the driver instructions. Then, without thinking much about it, I handed over fifteen euros, saying it was my treat. The driver nodded his understanding.

The women leaned forward in their seats and tried to stop me, but it was already done.

"Oh, you sweet girl, you didn't have to do that!" Doris said.

"It's my pleasure," I said, waving as I stepped away. "Happy anniversary! Be careful on those stairs!"

Both women waved and smiled as the cab pulled away. When the next car pulled up in the line, a man wearing a fanny pack over his parka asked if I was taking it. I realized the sky was turning pink, the sun was setting, and I would soon be late for my appointment with my parents. I said I would take the taxi, and as I sat down and looked out the window, I hoped that Lucy and Doris would be able to reach the top of the Eiffel Tower that night, and that it would be one of the best memories of their thirty years together.


	5. Chapter 5

When I arrived at the restaurant, I spotted my parents right away. They were dressed nicely, my mother in a black dress and pearls, her mink coat hanging on the wall behind her, and my father in a finely fitted suit and a purple neck tie, his hair combed back neatly. I felt a little under-dressed myself, but at least I was still bouncy fresh from the salon.

I felt a little tired, though, and hoped my parents weren't in a chatty mood. In general, they liked to eat an early dinner, have a glass of wine and be in bed before ten. That worked out perfectly for my plans. I intended to stay for dinner, chat a bit about unimportant things, say my goodbyes, and then run home to see Cosima.

That was the plan anyway, and it went pretty well for the first fifteen minutes. I greeted my parents with kisses. I sat down at the table. We ordered food as I discussed my itinerary for the Kenya trip. They offered their congratulations, which were then followed by my father's statements of undying confusion as to why I went into epidemiology instead of medicine. I explained that epidemiology is an important branch of research that directly affects medicine, and the treatment of patients all over the world. He said that, as a medical doctor, I could help people right there in France and make more money while doing it. I said that I'm not doing it for money and money isn't everything. He said under his breath something about me always having money, so I didn't think I had to work for it. I tried my best to not roll my eyes like a teenager, because this conversation was very old, and my patience for it was very thin.

Talk about the weather, I thought. Just talk about the weather.

"So, it's rather warm these days, isn't it?" I said. "So much for a white Christmas."

"Yes," my father said, leaning back in his chair, with his hands crossed over his substantial belly. "It really makes you wonder about all that global warming talk, doesn't it?"

"That's what they say," my mother said. "That's what they say."

She fiddled with the pearls around her wrist and then looked at me as if she had just thought of the perfect thing to say.

"It must be very hot in Kenya," she said. "I bet it won't be snowing there."

"No," I said. "It definitely won't."

"Your suitcase must be very light then. Are you all packed and ready to go?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Very light. Only a few pairs of shorts and some t-shirts."

"I see," my mother said, and then she looked to my father, but he was gazing off toward the front door.

Instinctively, both my mother and I followed his line of sight, but I didn't see anything. My mother then turned back to me.

"Now, don't you go falling in love with some Kenyan doctor and forget all about us," she said.

"Mother," I said. "I don't think that's going to happen."

"Well, why not?" she said. "You always seem to be attracted to foreigners."

"That's not true," I said.

"Well, what about that American?" she said.

"That was only one person," I said, "and his name was Josh."

"Oh, yeah, the artist," my father said, returning his attention to our table. "Whatever happened to that guy?"

"She left him in San Francisco, remember?" my mother said.

"Things didn't work out," I said.

"Good," my father said. "I never liked that guy, anyway."

"I know," I said.

"He was a flake," my dad said.

"I thought he was handsome," my mom said.

"I know, I know," I said in a tone that meant I was done with the topic.

We all three sat silently, awkwardly, the air heavy between us. My father kept glancing at the front door. My mother looked down at her hands. I took a drink of wine, because the situation was very quickly becoming unpleasant.

"I wonder when our food will come," my mother said. "We ordered it twenty minutes ago."

"This place is always slow, remember?" my father said. "You always complain about it."

"I'm sure it will be here soon," I said.

"Ah-ha!" my father said, standing up from his chair. "Here he is!"

"Here who is?" I said, turning toward the door.

My mother then stood up, too, her eyebrows raised expectantly, her mouth turned up into a smile.

"Your brother!" she said.

"What?" I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

But even as I said it, I watched my brother walk in the door, his long hair covered in a navy blue knit hat, his beard was full and wild. He wore a grey pea coat with elbow patches, and workman's pants and boots. He had the overall, hardy look of a seaman, because, that was what he was, though I had never seen it before in person.

He approached the table, his smile visible, even beneath his brown beard. He hugged my father in that over aggressive masculine way, as if to say, we are both men, this is how men hug, complete with a pat on the back and a squeeze of the forearm. Then he kissed my mother gingerly, and she giggled when his whiskers tickled her cheeks.

I watched the whole scene from my chair, too shocked to stand. He sat down in the chair across from me, almost a stranger behind that beard, which made him look both older and younger at the same time. Older, because it gave him more mass, added a typical sort of masculinity to his general appearance, but younger, because it emphasized his cheeks, making them appear rounder, and it emphasized his eyes, making them the focus of his entire face. You could not escape his eyes, which were blue, luminescent and full of mischief.

"Merry Christmas, Delphine," he said as he sat down.

"Merry Christmas, Laurent," I said.

"It's been a long time," he said.

"Yes," I said. "Too long."


	6. Chapter 6

Our food arrived just as Laurent sat down, and the waitress brought him another menu. He held in front of himself without looking at it. Instead, he looked back and forth between my parents as they peppered him with questions about his travels.

"You look good," my mother said. "You look really good! Doesn't he look good, Delphine?"

"Yes," I said. "I like your beard."

"Oh, really?" he said touching his beard the way a pirate might. "Thanks."

"So, how's the fishing industry these days?" my father said. "How much did you pull this season?"

"The crabbing industry is good," Laurent said, "I was crabbing, remember? But it's too cold now, so no one is making money this season."

My father grunted his understanding and took a large bite of steak.

"How's life over there in Alaska?" my mother said. "Are you making any new friends?"

Laurent's eyes met mine for a second, and I thought I saw the hint of a smile on his face, but maybe it was the beard. Maybe it was some sort of beard mirage.

"Yes," he said. "Actually, I made a lot of new, good friends this summer."

"These are crabbing friends?" I asked.

"Kind of, but not really," he said. "They are more concerned with whales."

"Whales, huh?" my father said. "Is there a lot of money in whaling?"

My brother tilted his head to the side and hesitated. "Well, yes, unfortunately, yes."

"Unfortunately?" my father said without looking up from his plate.

"The truth is," my brother started, "I'm not hunting whales. I'm hunting the people who hunt whales."

"What is that supposed to mean?" my father said, looking up, holding his steak on the end of his fork, mid-air.

"Well, now I'm confused," my mother said, dabbing at her mouth with her white napkin.

"Well, you see," Laurent started. "There is a group of people who are fighting against the illegal whaling that's happening in international waters. They hunt down whaling vessels and expeditions and do their best to obstruct those efforts, in order to… well, in order to save the whales."

"Save the whales?" my father said. "And exactly how much money is there in saving the whales?"

"None," Laurent said. "Absolutely none. It's quite expensive actually. That's why we are looking for investors."

"That sounds illegal," my mother said. "Won't you get in trouble for that?"

"There is no governing body on international waters, which is why the whalers can do whatever they want. But it also means that we can do whatever we want, too."

"But isn't it dangerous?" I said.

"Yes," Laurent said. "We just lost a guy, actually. He fell onto the deck of a Japanese boat, and we haven't heard from him since. The Japanese government is being less than cooperative. Which again, is why I am here in Paris, looking for sponsors, allies, anyone who can help us out."

Next to me, my father sat silently, his breathing becoming labored, his knuckles turning red as he clenched his fork.

"So, this is what you have been doing for the last six months?" he said. "This is why you haven't returned your mother's calls?"

"Yes," Laurent said. "As you can imagine, I haven't exactly been close to a landline, let alone a wi-fi signal."

"And your savings?" my father said.

"Well," Laurent said. "I have less now than I've ever had."

My father's face, with no beard to hide it, was turning unmistakably red. He set his fork down deliberately and placed his hands flat on the table.

"I thought the point of this whole crabbing business was to earn money," my father said. "You promised to pay us back. Do you remember that? Do you remember the time you wanted to start a bakery and we loaned you the money? Or, do you remember the time you thought you were a writer and you spent the whole year on _our_ couch? Eating _our_ food? Spending more of _our_ money? I thought you were trying to be responsible for once in your life."

"I am being responsible," Laurent said. "If I don't save these whales, who will?"

"Save the whales?!" my father said, pushing his chair back, standing up from the table. "I don't give a shit who saves the goddamn whales! And I certainly don't want my son putting himself in debt and danger to do it!"

"It's too late," Laurent said, not breaking eye contact for a moment. "I've already done it, and I will continue to do it. I'd hoped you would understand me and offer your support."

"Then you hoped wrong," my father said. He looked across the table at my mother and added, "Let's go!"

My father stormed out of the restaurant. My mother stood up, but didn't leave without saying goodbye. She kissed us both on the cheeks, me first, and then my brother. She held him by his shoulders.

"Why must you always push his buttons?" she said.

"Believe it or not, this is not about him," Laurent said.

When they were out the door, the waitress came by and, without realizing we had lost half of our dinner party, asked to take Laurent's order.

"No, thanks," he said. "I'm suddenly not hungry."

"Me, neither," I said, looking at the confused waitress. "But I could use a drink."

"That sounds like a great idea!" Laurent said, smiling up at the waitress. "I'll have whatever she's having."

I glanced at my watch. I still had about an hour to kill before I had to get home. The waitress

looked down at me expectantly, tapping the edge of her pen against her notepad.

"Red wine?" I said to Laurent.

"Sounds good to me," he said.

"And since there are two of us..." I started to say.

"We might as well get a bottle," he finished.

/

By the time the hour was up, we had managed to drink through two bottles. We sat at the table, him leaning back, legs spread, one elbow resting on the back of his chair. He had removed his hat at some point, and his hair was a disheveled mess. I leaned back too, but my arms were crossed in front of my chest, and I leaned to the side a bit, as if guarding myself from him, as if waiting for him to take a cheap shot, as if he might reach out and punch my arm the way he used to when we were kids.

"Well, congratulations sailor man!" I said, perhaps a little too loudly. "You've set a new record!"

"Oh, yeah?" he said. "And what's that?"

"Tonight was the fastest I've ever seen you run our parents out of a building," I said.

"No," he said. "I'm sure there were faster times. What about the day I closed the bakery?"

"Nope," I said.

"What about the time I showed up drunk to mass on Easter?" he said.

"Maybe that was a close second," I said. "But this was pretty fast. Less than five minutes. It's like your super power or something."

"My super power?" he said.

"Yeah," I said. "You walk in and they walk out. It's a shame, really. They actually looked excited to see you this time."

"And what about you?" he said.

"What about me?" I said, staring at the bottom of empty glass, considering for a moment to stay longer.

 _No!_ I thought. _You have to get home! Cosima will be waiting for you!_

"Aren't you excited to see me?" he said.

I looked up at his round cheeks and blue eyes, and there was that mischief, undying as ever.

"No," I said. "Because I know you're going to ask to stay at my place tonight, but you can't because I have plans."

"Plans?" he said. "What plans can you possibly have the night before you fly to Kenya?"

"That," I said, raising my hand to get the waitresses attention, "is none of your business."

"Oh," he said. "I like the sound of this. Do you have a date? Like a last minute hook-up sort of thing? Are you seeing someone?"

"Check, please," I said to the waitress.

"I thought you dumped the American," he said leaning toward me.

"It's none of your business, Laurent," I said, trying to keep a straight face, but I felt my cheeks getting hot.

"You're such a bad liar," he said.

"I'm not lying," I said. "I haven't said anything besides it's not your business. How is that a lie?"

"Alright," he said. "Then you're hiding something."

"Maybe I am," I said. "But it's still none of your business."

"Oh, come on, Delphine," he said. "I've got no where else to go. You know mom and dad aren't going to let me set foot in their house."

"What happened to all your good friends you met this summer?" I said. "Where are they now?"

"Somewhere in the middle of the Pacific," he said, his face suddenly earnest. "Trust me, the faster I can get back to them, the better."

"Look," I said, signing the receipt on the table. "You got two bottles of wine out of me, alright? I can't give you anything else right now. I'm sorry."

He stared up at me, at first very serious, almost hurt, and then the seriousness melted away, until he was laughing in my face.

"That was pretty good," he said. "I almost believed you for a second."

 _Me too,_ I thought.

I sighed and stood up.

"I can't believe you're older than me," I said as I walked away.

/

I'm a pushover, I know.

Laurent followed me outside the restaurant, and when I hailed a taxi he stood by my side with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pea coat. When the taxi pulled up, I expected him to simply walk to the other side, but when I opened the door, he remained where he was under the awning of the restaurant. I looked back at him and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Merry Christmas, Delphine. Good luck in Kenya," he said.

"Wait, what?" I said.

"I don't want to ruin your date," he said. "I'll find somewhere to stay. I think I know someone out in ..."

"Oh, just get in the car," I said.

As soon as I said the words, he scurried over to the other door and eagerly climbed into the back seat of the taxi. He closed his door first, and when I closed mine, I was greeted by a big, rocking hug.

"I promise I won't make a peep," he said. "It will be like I'm not even there at all."

"Relax," I said. "I don't have a date. It's just a phone call."

"With whom?" he said, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow.

"With..." I said. "With my friend. A friend I met in San Francisco."

"A gentleman friend?" he said. "Another American?"

"No, yes, I mean, no," I said. "Yes, American. No, not a gentleman. She's a scientist, like me. That's all."

"Oh," he said, relaxing back into his seat. "Well, that's perfect! After your phone call, we can have a slumber party, just like old times!"

"What are you talking about?" I said. "We never had slumber parties. You had already moved out of the house before I was in sixth grade."

"In that case," he said. "We have to make up for lost time. I have so much to tell you about."

I looked at him sideways for a moment. "Who are you?" I asked. "And what have you done with my brother?"

"Oh, come on, Delphine," he said, the seriousness returning momentarily to his eyes. "What's so strange about wanting to spend time with my sister?"

"Nothing, I suppose," I said, but I couldn't escape the feeling that he was going to start laughing in my face again. "But as soon as we get home, you have to disappear for a while. I have a phone call and it's very important to me, so I can't pay attention to you for at least an hour, maybe more. Do you think you can live with that?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I've grown accustomed to keeping myself busy."

I paid the taxi driver and we both got out. I hurried up the fronts steps of my building, but Laurent lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, his head tilted back, his mouth wide open.

"Wow," he said. "Nice place. Is dad paying for this?"

I turned the key in the lock to the front door and slipped into the entryway. I motioned for him to hurry up.

"Yes, come on," I said.

He slipped into the tiny space behind me as I unlocked the second door.

"Mademoiselle Delphine Cormier," Laurent read from the tag on my mailbox. "Very fancy."

"It's not so fancy, really," I said.

But when I turned to read my name as well, I saw something in the little window in the mailbox.

"Wait a minute," I said, removing the door key and then inserting the mailbox key instead.

I pulled out a few flyers, but then in between them, I found a red envelope. I recognized Cosima's handwriting right away. Forgetting that Laurent was standing right over my shoulder, I tore open the envelope, grinning like an idiot the whole time. It was a postcard, a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge in the art deco style. On the top corner it read _Paris of the West_. I turned it over and immediately saw the words, _Love, Cosima_ at the bottom. My heart jumped, and I suddenly imagined Laurent's eyes on me. I flipped the card over, holding it to my chest, turning to face Laurent so that he couldn't see it.

But when I turned, he was picking up a delivery menu near his feet.

 _Oh, thank god_ , I thought. _He didn't see._

"This looks pretty tasty," he said, looking up. "Who's the card from?"

"No one," I said. "Just a colleague."

"Oh, can we go upstairs now?" he said. "It's kind of claustrophobic in here."

"Yeah, sure," I said, opening the second entry door for him and gesturing for him to go first. "It's number 303."

"No lift?" he said.

"No, I told you it wasn't fancy," I said, walking up the stairs intentionally slow behind him.

I peeked at the postcard, still holding it close to my chest. Cosima's writing - petite and elegant, just like her - was scrawled over every available centimeter of white space.

_Merry Christmas, Delphine!_

_Did you know that when they were trying to attract settlers to San Francisco a hundred years ago, they marketed the city as the Paris of the West? Well, it doesn't feel like Paris to me. Paris seems very far away, almost imaginary, except for your bedroom, which I can see on your video camera every time we talk. I wish I could visit that Paris, the one that has your bed, and your smell, and your body in it. When is someone going to invent a socialized teleportation system? Anyway, I know you are doing the right thing by going to Kenya. I can't wait to see you one more time before you go._

_Love, Cosima_

I was only on the landing of the second floor when I finished reading her words. The wine was taking its toll, filling my eyes with tears. I held the card to my chest and took a deep breath.

 _I've made a horrible mistake_ , I thought.

"Delphine?" I heard Laurent call from upstairs. "Are you coming?

I stopped for a moment, remembered my surroundings. I slipped the postcard into my pocket and wiped the fresh tears from my eyes.

"Yes, I'm coming," I said after a breath, not realizing that he had switched to English when he had said it.

I turned the corner, taking the first step up the last flight of stairs, holding the railing as I went.

"Good," Laurent said in English from the top of the stairs. His body was nearly a silhouette against the light in the ceiling. "Because we have a visitor."

"What?" I said, looking up, feeling a surreal sensation to hear him speak English, as I was sure I hadn't heard him speak it since we were teenagers.

"Laurent, did you give out my address?" I said.

"Not at all," he said.

I looked up at him, watching in disbelief as another silhouette joined him on the landing.

It was unmistakable; the short stature, the petite frame, the red wool coat, the dreads.

I froze at the bottom of the stairs, unable to take another step.

 _It can't be,_ I thought. _It's not possible._

But then the silhouette waved her hand. The sound of her bracelets jingled through the hall and down the stairs. She leaned onto her right hip and said, "Merry Christmas, Delphine!"

I didn't respond in words, really. Instead I let out a roaring shriek of joy. I ran up the stairs, grabbing her hand, pulling her into my arms and hugging her so hard, that I lifted her feet up off the ground.

"Merry Christmas, Cosima!" I said, with my face in her neck. "Merry Christmas!"


	7. Chapter 7

For a moment - a moment filled with Cosima's bright but tired smile - I forgot my surroundings.

For a moment, I was filled with the memory of a promise that I had made in San Francisco; a promise that she had carried all the way across the Atlantic, so that I could be relieved of the burden. For that moment, I felt my entire body rise up, as if I had been carrying a weight around for days, and now it had been lifted.

I reached my hand out, cupping Cosima's cheek.

"You're so cold," I said. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No, not long," Cosima said, glancing between Laurent and myself, her eyebrows raised, as if asking for some introduction or explanation.

"Oh," I said, pulling my hand away. "Cosima, this is my brother, Laurent. Laurent, this is Cosima, the scientist friend I told you about."

"Hello," Cosima said, reaching out her hand.

"Wow," Laurent said, shaking Cosima's hand. "That's some phone call. What is it, a hologram? It even feels real, too!"

"No, I'm not a hologram, but that would be really cool," Cosima said. "I'm the real thing."

"The real thing, huh?" Laurent said, his eyes lingering on Cosima's face.

"I didn't know she was coming," I said, stepping up to the door.

"It was kind of a surprise," Cosima said behind me.

"Oh, good," Laurent said. "Now, I don't feel so guilty for dropping in."

As I fumbled with my keys, my mind was racing with possible scenarios for how the rest of the evening would go. Was my flat even presentable? I suddenly couldn't remember. Did I have enough food? Did I have enough blankets? Toothbrushes? How soundproof were my walls? I'd never had a chance to test it out before.

This is going to be tricky, I thought.

"What's going to be tricky?" Laurent said behind me.

"Oh, uh.." I said, realizing I had spoken out loud. "This door. It's always a little tricky to get it open. "

"Here, let me," Laurent said, nudging me out of the way.

Normally, that kind of thing would have annoyed me, but I was still a bit shell-shocked, so I took a step backwards; took a step toward Cosima.

We looked at each other sideways and smiled.

"I was supposed to arrive yesterday, but you know me, kinda always late," she said.

"Yes," I said. "I know you."

Then I took her face in my hands, pulling her toward me, toward my mouth, not caring if I landed the kiss perfectly, only wanting to satisfy my desire, even for a moment. The kiss landed on her bottom lip, but the momentum of it was enough to bring our bodies together - our hips and our ribs together - just before I bounced away again.

"There we go," Laurent said, pushing the door open with a grand gesture, obviously proud of himself.

"Thanks," I said, looking at the ground, trying hard not to touch my own mouth. "Can you get Cosima's bags?"

The next hour or so is a blur. I can't really remember much of what I said or did, save for one moment; the moment I asked to take Cosima's coat.

"Sure," she said, turning her back toward me.

Her hair was tied up, revealing her neck. She shrugged the coat off of her shoulders, and I grabbed the collar in my hands, taking a step closer to her, so close her hair was right in my face. When I dodged my head to the side, I caught sight of her skin just beneath her knit sweater, which dipped a little down her back. I caught sight of the curve of her shoulder where it meets her neck; the delicate vertebrate that poked out just above her collar; the tiny blond hairs that stood up straight when I approached and left a trail of goosebumps down her spine.

I shivered.

The rest of the hour was an awkward bustle of motion, asking questions, catching up, introductions, offerings of food and drink, explanations for time lost between Laurent and myself, explanations for why he was crashing my flat, explanations that involved whales and international waters.

I watched Cosima's face. She was tired but trying her best to pay attention, to connect the dots on all the things she had missed that day, and on all the things she didn't know about me.

She looked overwhelmed. We were basically strangers, after all.

"Laurent," I said, cutting him off mid-story. "I'm sure Cosima is tired after her long trip, right Cosima?"

"Oh, I'm fine," she said, waving her hand in the air, but I could tell she was just being polite.

"See, she's fine," Laurent said.

"Alright," I said. "Then I'm tired. This day has completely worn me out."

"What?" Laurent said. "It's not even ten o'clock yet."

"I hope you don't mind sleeping on the couch," I said, tossing blankets at him, intentionally speaking fast so he wouldn't have time to interrupt. "Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge, but I don't think there's much. I'll be out early in the morning, stay as long as you like. Cosima's sleeping with me."

I looked deliberately at Cosima. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, perfect, obvs," she said to me and stood up. "Uh, it was nice meeting you…"

I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the bedroom before she could finish her salutation.

"Nice meeting you, too," Laurent said, but the door closed behind us and cut him off.

"That was a little bit rude," Cosima said, but I could tell by the tone in her voice that she was more amused than angry.

"I don't care," I said, leaning back against the door, as if bracing myself against Laurent's presence, as if fortifying my room with my will for us to be alone.

"Me, neither," she said, still a few steps away from me.

She glanced around the room, and I tried to imagine how she saw it. The walls were white, boring, not much decoration, but the ceilings were lined with an ancient moulding that added a sort of old world elegance to the room. There wasn't much in the way of furniture; a bed with a plain white comforter, a desk neatly stacked with books, a chair tucked neatly under the desk. My computer and most of my notes were already packed neatly away. My suitcase stood in the corner by the closet.

She looked up at me, crossing her arms in front of her chest. We both heard Laurent turn the television on in the other room.

Damn, I thought. Not very sound proof at all.

"So," I said. I suddenly didn't know what to say. We stared at each other, for a moment as awkward as strangers.

"So," she said. "You're room is very...tidy."

"Yeah, I guess so," I said, also crossing my arms, but not sure why. "Most of my things are already packed."

"Laurent seems nice," she said, crossing one leg in front of the other, and then touching her own face.

"He's fine," I said, suddenly running my hands through my own hair. "I'm sorry he was talking so much about whales."

She smiled and took a step toward me. "It's fine," she said. "I like whales."

"Oh, right," I said. "Evo-devo."

"Yeah," she said, reaching for my hands. "But you know what I like more than whales?"

"I can guess," I said, barely able to say the words.

Soon, she was leaning her whole body against me, pressing me back against the door. I looked down at her and swallowed hard. I had too many emotions, both positive and negative, both joyous and sorrowful. They were filling me up and stretching me out like a water balloon. I couldn't speak another word.

She touched my face, looking up at me from beneath her thick-framed glasses. Then she touched my chin, my ears, my shoulders. Her eyes moved down, until she was staring at my chest, and then she nuzzled her face against my shoulder and squeezed me very hard around the arms.

"Your smell," she said, her voice muffled, her lips pushing against my collarbone. "I like your smell."

And though that wasn't my first guess; with the baby powder scent of her hair under my nose, I knew exactly what she meant.


	8. Chapter 8

In all of those nights; the ones where I dreamed of Cosima's hands, the ones where I woke up out of breath, the ones that made my chest ache; I always thought that seeing Cosima again would be the answer to all my angst. I thought that if I could just be near her, even for a short while, then I'd be satiated, I'd be able to go on. On all those nights, the only way to help myself fall asleep was to fantasize about my future happiness, about the happiness that would come when I saw her again.

And it's true, I was happy. As she slipped her hands under my shirt, and pulled it up over my head, I was happy. And when she unhooked my bra and leaned close to my ear and whispered, "We have to be quiet," I was very happy. When she pushed me back on the bed, and settled herself on her knees on the floor, slipped her glasses off before returning her eyes to mine; when she kissed the inside of my thigh; when I rocked my hips toward her mouth; yes, I was exploding with happiness.

But even as my joy was escalating, even as I was lulling along on desire, I felt something else creeping in at the edges of my heart; something down and something dark. I closed my eyes, and pulled at Cosima's hands. She climbed up over me onto the bed, panting. When I opened my eyes, her face was right over mine, her expression both tender and aroused. I squeezed her face between my hands, wishing I hadn't seen the same sadness in her eyes that I could feel in my own.

I pushed her over, rolling her onto her back, deciding that I should try to ignore those darker feelings, that I should try to redirect my emotions. But even then, as I held her hands against the bed, and leaned over her, I felt a great sadness welling up in me.

"You're so beautiful," I said, barely able to speak.

Her expression changed, becoming even softer, even more tender. She grabbed my head by my ears and began kissing all over my face.

"Shhh!" she whispered. "Shhh!"

She pulled me down and embraced me, slipping her thigh between mine and pushing up hard against my crotch.

"Just fuck me," she said into my ear.

Those words - dirty words, as I had learned from school - did more to shake me loose from my sadness than any other sort of soft consolation she could have uttered.

She scraped at my back with her nails, which both shocked me and kind of pissed me off, but in a good way. I yelped and she immediately covered my mouth with her hand. I looked down at her in disbelief.

But she was all smiles, laughing at my indignation.

"Come on, Delphine," she whispered. "Fuck me...quietly."

"Fine," I whispered back, slipping my hand down, tickling her stomach. "I'll fuck you."

She squirmed beneath my hands. "But you have to be quiet," I said.

"Fine," she said, pinching my back.

I almost yelped again. "That's not fair!" I said. "Pinching is not fair."

"Tickling's not fair," she said.

"Fine," I said. "No more tickling."

"Fine," she said, looking up at me, daring me to try it again.

But I didn't. I pushed my hand further down, pushing down her underwear, not lingering, not taking my time, but going directly to the place she liked. I watched her face change from silly to serious in an instant. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and I could tell she was biting back a moan.

When I felt her warmth, when I felt her arousal, when I went inside her, I was very happy again. I decided to focus on that part, ignore the sad part. As we moved together - sometimes kissing, sometimes biting, sometimes eyes closed and backs arched, sometimes eyes wide open, staring at each other, the space between our pupils filled with a confusing mix of emotions - we were both in agreement about one thing; we were determined to fuck the sadness away.


	9. Chapter 9

Cosima fell asleep right away, but not before mumbling something almost unintelligible into the pillow.

"I brought a present for you," she said, laying on her stomach, her face pointed away from me.

"What?" I said, touching her bare shoulder.

"I brought a present for you," she repeated. Then she weakly gestured with her arm. "It's in my bag."

I looked around the room, realizing that her bags were not there. Her bags were still out in the living room with Laurent. I sat up and pulled on my robe. I stood at the door and listened, and sure enough, I could still hear the TV.

"Do you want a glass of water or anything?" I asked with my hand on the door knob.

There was no answer.

"Cosima?" I whispered.

She was completely out.

I smiled to myself and left the room as quietly as I could. When I opened the door, the lights in the living room and kitchen had been turned off. I couldn't see Laurent's head over the back of the sofa, so I assumed that he must be asleep. I tiptoed to Cosima's bags first, examined them, tried to guess which one she was talking about. I started to unzip the smallest, then thought better of it. Moving them would make too much noise, and whatever present she had brought for me, it could wait until morning.

Or could it? I thought. Morning is only a few hours away, and so, too is my departure. Maybe I should wake her up! Maybe we shouldn't waste these precious moments!

In the bluish glow of the TV lights, I reached my hand out, touching the rough fabric of Cosima's largest suitcase. It was just a suitcase, but somehow it had been imbued with value; because it was hers, because she had carried it all the way from San Francisco from her apartment with the red curtains and the high bed; the apartment that reminded me of Christmas and the place where I had first let myself imagine a future with her.

And now, here she was, in my bed, in my apartment, during Christmas, and none of this was what I had imagined. I had no chance to anticipate her arrival, her kisses, her sex; and now that I had already consumed them, I stood with my finger on her suitcase, and allowed the anticipation of the those things to catch up with my reality. I felt butterflies.

She is here. I thought. And she loves me.

"Bonsoir," Laurent said, sitting up on the couch and rubbing his eyes.

"Merde!" I said. "You scared me."

I stepped away from the suitcases and walked toward the refrigerator. Much to my discomfort, Laurent stood up from the couch and joined me in the kitchen. He sat at the table and watched me as I poured a glass of water, drank it down, and poured another.

"Would you like some?" I offered.

"No thanks," he said, staring at me with a smirk.

"What?" I said.

"What, what?" he said, shrugging his shoulders.

He knows, I thought. I thought we were being quiet.

"Why are you staring at me?" I said.

"It's nothing," he said. "I'm just wondering what the plan is tomorrow."

"Plan?" I said. "What plan? It's the same as before. I'm leaving at seven o'clock for the airport."

"Oh, okay," he said, still smirking.

"What?" I said, nearly slamming the water bottle on the table.

"It's just, I thought you'd changed your mind," he said.

"Why would I have changed my mind?" I said.

"I don't know," he said, fiddling with the corkscrew that was left on the table. "Because Cosima is here...I thought you'd stay. I mean, she came all the way here for you. It would be a shame to leave right away."

"I know," I said, taking another drink. "But what can I do?"

"You could call out," he said.

"Call out?" I said. "How exactly do I call out of a trip to Kenya?"

"Just like that, with a telephone," he said. "Say you're sick. The 24-hour flu, or food poisoning. Say you aren't fit to be on an international flight. Say you will catch up as soon as you feel healthy."

"24-hour flu?" I said, feeling a bit incredulous.

"Yes," Laurent said. "Stranger things have happened. Besides, if you really are sick, you don't want to put your fellow passengers at risk. It's the responsible thing to do."

"You're kidding," I said.

But Laurent just looked up at me, not saying another word.

"The responsible thing?" I said with a forced laugh. "This, coming from you, the least responsible person I've ever met?"

Still, he said nothing.

"God!" I said. "That's so easy for you to say, because you have never worked hard for anything in your life! I'm not like you, Laurent. I don't just blow people off like that...God! The 24-hour flu! Seriously?!"

Then I was silent, too. It was no fun fighting with someone who wasn't fighting back. I sat down at the table, and we stared at each other. I couldn't really read his face. He was hiding behind his hands, which he had crossed in front of his mouth - not to mention that beard, which looked especially dark in the glow of the TV.

"Look," he finally said. "You can insult me if you want, but I'm trying to help you."

"Yeah, help me lose one of the best opportunities of my career," I said.

"Just listen," he said. "You're not giving up the whole trip. How long are you supposed to be there? In Kenya?"

"Six weeks," I said, immediately understanding his reasoning.

"What's two, maybe three days, out of six weeks?" he said.

"No, I can't," I said after a breath. "It's not right."

"Look," he said. "I didn't want to mention it, but let's just say I heard how much you care for Cosima. Actually, the whole floor probably heard how much you care for her."

He definitely knows! I thought, immediately wanting to leave the room.

"Oh my God!" I said, closing my eyes. "I don't want to hear this."

"If you're embarrassed, you don't have to be," he said. "I'm happy for you. She seems like a really nice girl."

"We're not having this conversation right now," I said.

"Why not?" he said.

"Because..." I said, crossing my arms. "Because we haven't talked about anything important in years, and it's one o'clock in the morning, and I'm in my robe...and we're not suddenly BFFs. That's why! Because...what I feel about Cosima is none of your business."

"Fine, then all I will say is...all I will say is..." he started twice and then he stalled.

"Is what?" I said, looking in his face, though I was extremely uncomfortable with this new level of candidness in our relationship.

"There are very few things that are important in life - the people you love and the time you have, those things are important. Everything else is...well, less important." He slouched his shoulders at the end, looking away, looking down at the corkscrew in his hands.

I was about to call him a hippie and thank him for his less than eloquent advice, but we both jumped at the sound of the floorboards as they creaked in the dark.

My bedroom door opened.

"Delphine?" Cosima said, only her face peeking out from behind the door.

"Yes," I said. "I'm coming."

"Okay," she said. "Got any H2O out there?"

"Sure," I said. "I'll be there in a minute. Go back to bed."

I stood up as the bedroom door closed. I poured the water until the glass was full.

Laurent grabbed my hand as I passed, looking up at me with his blue eyes which were uncharacteristically void of mischief.

"You're making a mistake, Delphine," he said. "Trust me; it's not worth it."

"Go to bed, Laurent," I said, dismissing him and the entire conversation.

/

When I got back to my room, Cosima was laying on her side, the blankets pulled up around her shoulders. I sat on the bed beside her and handed her the cup. She took it, drinking in large gulps, then handed it back to me.

"Sorry," I said. "Did we wake you?"

"No," Cosima said, plopping back down into the bed and pulling the blankets up. "I just wondered where you were, that's all."

I smiled and touched her face, her cheek still rosy and warm from sleep. I leaned over to kiss her forehead.

"Did you find my present?" she said.

"No," I said. "I didn't want to wake Laurent, but now he's awake anyway."

"Then you should go get it," she said.

"Which bag is it in?" I asked.

"The little one," she said. "Just bring it in here."

When I brought the bag, I set it on the bed, and she sat up, squinting and looking around the room.

"Where are my glasses?" she said. "Oh, shit! Where are my glasses?"

"Right here," I said, laughing at her panic. "Don't worry, I put them right here."

I handed them to her and watched her nose scrunch up as she slipped them on. It was a face she pulled often, every time she put on her glasses. It was one of my favorite faces.

Once her glasses were firmly in place, she went about opening her bag and digging around, a smile on her face the whole time.

"So," she said as she began pulling things out and setting them haphazardly on the bed, "Initially, I wanted to bring you a piece of San Francisco that was meaningful. Actually, as lame as it is, I wanted to bring you a snowball..."

Awwwwww, the sound actually escaped my mouth.

Cosima blushed.

"The only problem is," she continued, taking a lunchbox of sorts out of her bag, holding it to her chest, looking shy and vulnerable. "The only problem is, it never snows in San Francisco. Well, not never-never, but so infrequently that it might as well be never. In fact, the last time was in 2006, so, as you can imagine, all of that snow dried up a long time ago."

"Okay," I said, my eyes lingering on the lunchbox thing in her arms.

"So," she continued, "I brought you a substitute."

"A substitute?" I said. "For a snowball?"

"Yes," she said, handing the lunchbox over to me. It was heavier than I expected.

"What is it?" I said.

"Open it," she said.

I unzipped the top and peered inside. I saw a dark blue ice pack.

"An ice pack?" I said. "How romantic?"

"No, look under it," she said. "I hope they're not completely melted yet."

I took the ice pack out, and beneath it were what looked like ice cream popsicles, both labeled Eskimo Pie.

"Ice cream?" I said.

"Not just any ice cream," she said. "Eskimo Pies! I'm going to go out on a limb and say that they are the next best thing to snowballs."

"Right," I said, taking them out of the lunchbox, handing one to Cosima.

"Are they melted?" she asked.

"No, not completely," I said.

"Good!" she said. "I was worried, because I got held up in JFK, which is why I was late, so I wasn't sure if the ice packs would keep for this long. I couldn't bring myself to open the lunch box and check on them, because I was afraid I'd let the refrigerated air out."

She was babbling and fiddling with the ice cream wrapper. At that moment, I could care less about the ice cream in my hand, because I only wanted to devour her.

"It'd be a pretty crappy gift," she said, "to bring melted ice cream; especially if said ice cream was supposed to represent my feelings for you."

"Cosima," I said.

She stopped talking and looked up at me, with the tip of the Eskimo Pie on her lips.

"Yeah?" she said.

"I love it," I said. "Thank you."

"Good!" she said. "Then let's eat! They won't last much longer!"

And it was true, the Eskimo Pies were melting fast, threatening to drip all over my bed. I ate as fast as I could, watching Cosima between bites.

I can't believe she is really here, I thought.

The sounds of her mouth - the sloppy smacking sounds which might have grossed me out, had they been generated by any other - somehow shook me up, forced me to pay attention to that moment, to snatch at it with every neuron of my hippocampus.

My heart was screaming, Hey this is important! Remember this!

And I did.

So much so, that my senses started to converge. The tastes of the chocolate candy shell and the vanilla ice cream center were mixing with the sight of her in my memory, so that even now, sometimes in a convenience store, when passing by the freezer section, I am struck with the image of Cosima's shoulder, peeking out from beneath my white blanket. Even now, both the very mundane smell of vanilla and the very specific chemical smell of lunch box ice packs hold a very dear place in my heart. They both stir up visions of her; her handing me a chewed up popsicle stick; her watching me as I set it aside; her watching me as I slipped off my robe and shut off the light; watching me in darkness, as I crawled into bed over her.

"That was a wonderful present," I said. "The best Christmas present ever."

"Shut up," she said, sliding her hands around my back.

"No, seriously," I said. "Hyperboles aside, I'm really, really happy you are here. The most happy."

"The most happy ever?" she said. "Because that's a hyperbole."

"You know what I mean," I said, holding her face between my hands. "I can hardly believe you're here. I never knew you were so sneaky."

"I know," she said. "It was torture not telling you. I'm actually really bad at keeping secrets."

"You could have fooled me," I said.

"Although, in retrospect," she said. "I probably should have included you so that we could have planned it a little better."

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "It's not like you could have predicted you would be stuck at JFK. And the surprise was pretty amazing."

"I know, but..." she said, looking away for a moment, "...now, you're leaving so soon. It feels like..."

"Déjà vu?" I said.

I traced my thumbs along her jaw, still smelling the chocolate on her breath.

"Yeah," she said, still looking away.

"Maybe," I said. "And, maybe not."

Her eyes snapped back to mine and her brows furrowed in confusion.

"What do you mean?" she said.

"When is your return flight?" I said.

"Back to San Francisco?" she said.

"Yes," I said. "You're not planning to leave tomorrow, too, are you?"

"No," she said. "I'm flying out on Christmas Day. It was the cheapest day."

"I see," I said. "Then I think I might have to fly out on Christmas, too."

"What?" she said. "You're joking."

"No," I said. "I'm very serious, and I think I have a very serious case of the flu coming on."

Not missing a beat, Cosima touched my forehead with the back of her hand.

"I'm no doctor," she said, "But I've seen this in alligators. And you're right. It's seems pretty serious."

"So," I said. "In your professional opinion, speaking as an employee of the California Academy of Sciences, what would you advise me to do?"

"As a scientist, and an expert on the health of albino alligators, I would say you should definitely not get on that flight," she said. "It wouldn't be fair to the other passengers."

"As an expert in immunology and communicable diseases, I think I'm going to have to agree with you," I said. "For the sake of the other passengers."

Her smile was so big, the tops of her cheeks pushed up on the bottom rims of her glasses. A tear formed but did not drip from her right eye. I kissed her cheeks as she laughed, and she wrapped her arms around me again.

"For the other passengers," she said again. "You're very considerate."

"It's only fair," I said, sliding down her body and kissing all the places that I knew would make her laugh, this time, not caring to be quiet.


	10. Chapter 10

With each kiss and each giggle that followed, my perceptions waffled between the familiar and the surreal. Yes, I knew the sound of her laughter. Yes, I knew the face of the woman who was laughing. I knew her body well enough to draw the giggles out, and yet…

When she turned me over, holding my hands against my own chest; when she looked down at me, her hair falling over her face; when she sat up with her legs on either side of my waist, panting like a happy animal; I saw that old, familiar, unknowable thing.

"I can't believe you're here," I said. "I see you, and I feel you, but somehow I still can't believe it."

"I'm here," she said quietly, raising my hands to her mouth.

"I know, but, you know what I mean," I said.

"Can you feel this?" she said, kissing the backs of my hands. Her lips were chapped and warm.

"Oui," I said.

"Can you feel this?" she said, kissing my wrists - once on each arm - sending shivers down my spine.

"Oui," I said, my hips moving on their own.

"And this?" she said, placing my hands on her breasts.

"Oui," I said, feeling her nipples harden in my palms.

"Well, the empirical evidence would suggest that I am, in fact, physically present," she said, grinding her hips in circles.

"Yes," I said. "But I feel like, once I finally get used to the idea of you being here, then you are just going to leave."

Cosima didn't frown at the thought, nor did she stop the circular motion of her hips over mine. Instead, she leaned over and started kissing my neck and shoulders.

"That might be true..." she said, adjusting her weight until she was laying down next to me with her thigh slug over the top of my leg.

Then she moved her hand down the front of my belly, lingering, her index finger making lazy circles just over my pubic bone.

"But...you're going to have so many more orgasms before that happens," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice.

Oh, yes, I thought. I know this cocky little jerk.

/

But even still, even as the morning came and I watched Cosima drift off to sleep in the gray morning light, I stared at her face, as if trying to figure out the secret code to her existence. Her eyes were closed. Her mouth was open slightly, and her shoulders moved gently up and down with her breath.

I stared at her face, and I stared at it hard. She looked the same as the first time I had met her in that aquarium. And, at the same time, she looked different. She was paler, her face thinner. I wondered if it was just from the traveling, or if the last months had been as hard for her as they had been for me.

Laurent is right, I thought. It would be foolish to leave this morning. How could I? As if I even have a choice?

A few moments later, my phone vibrated against the desk. It was the alarm I had set for myself. I hurried out of bed and shut it off. It was already five. It was already decision time.

I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to think of what to say to my professor. My stomach turned, just thinking about it. I was never good at that sort of thing; I was never good at lying.

But Laurent is, I thought.

I snuck out into the living room.

"Laurent," I said, trying not to startle him. "Laurent, wake up!"

"What?" he said, startled anyway. "Are you leaving now?"

"No, no," I said. "I need your help."

"What?" he said, sitting up immediately. "What is it?"

"I need your help calling out," I said. "I don't think I can do it. I'm no good at lying. I feel sick."

"Just text," he said.

"Text?" I said, having not previously considering it an option.

"Yeah," he said. "What time is it?"

"Five," I said.

"Okay, then just text, and apologize that you are bothering him so early."

"I see," I said. I stared down at my phone keyboard.

Then I looked up at Laurent. "Can you do it?"

"Jesus, Delphine," he said. "When did you become such a wimp?"

"Just do it for me, please!" I said. "I'm begging you. I'm begging you!"

"Alright, fine, but I get to stay here for a few more days," he said. "No questions asked."

"Fine," I said. "Whatever you want."

"And breakfast," he said.

"Deal," I said. "Just do it. You're wasting time."

I handed Laurent my phone and ran away to the kitchen. I brewed coffee as he typed like a madman with his thumbs.

"What are you writing? A dissertation?" I asked from the kitchen.

"Shhh," he said. "Let the master work."

After a moment, he tossed the phone onto the table and plopped his head back down onto the couch cushion.

"It's done," he said.

"Yeah?" I said.

"Yeah," he said. "I told him you'd contact him with your new flight information as soon as you had it."

"You're the best!" I said.

Those weren't words I had said to my brother very often in the last few years. I almost ran to the couch to hug him, but instead I jumped up in the air and spun around, hugging myself and squealing.

"Stay as long as you like," I said, running back to the bedroom, hoping to tell Cosima the good news.

/

But when I opened the door, I couldn't bring myself to wake her. She was sleeping on her side as the new day's sun peeked into the room and over the bed sheets. I sat next to her and stared at her face again. Her eyelashes were fluttering and I could see her irises moving back and forth beneath her eyelids. She was dreaming. Her expression was calm and sweet, and her mouth was still open, letting out heavy breaths that were now on the verge of snores.

She must be exhausted, I thought, reaching my hand out.

But then, I resisted the urge to touch her face.

She will probably sleep all day, I thought.

I slid into bed next to her, curling up behind her back - the obvious big spoon.

Not that, that is a bad thing.

I slid right up behind her, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, but not touching, because I didn't want to wake her, not even for a second. Instead, I laid there, staring at her back; at the space between her shoulder blades; the valley that formed between them, and the shadows that fell across her skin as the room grew brighter and brighter.

I counted the beauty marks on her back - the ones I could see. I connected them like dots into different patterns and shapes. I used them as a scale to measure the distance she had overcome to get to me. If that one - the one on her lower left rib - was San Francisco; and this one - the one on the tippy-top of her right shoulder - was Paris; then her spine ran right down the middle of the Atlantic, like some sort of misplaced Greenwich Meridian. I wanted to touch her so bad, but I hugged my arms around myself instead.

The world is unbearably big, I thought. And yet, the world is incredibly small...so small that it can be encompassed in the beauty marks on Cosima's back.

And that was my last coherent thought before I, too, drifted off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

What can I say? So, we slept all day?

We slept all that first day, drifting into a soft, deep sleep as the sun came up, and rising with languid stretches as the sun went down.

No matter the hours that may have been lost, I refuse to call it a waste of a day. I refuse to categorize any of our actions during those few days as wasteful. The exact opposite was true.

Every moment was meaningful, loaded with importance, and set aside from all other moments in both clarity and longevity. It was as if the physics of the natural world were conspiring with us, bending time in strange ways, so that minutes would stretch on like hours - like the minute within which I woke up and caught her staring at me, laying on her side, her elbow under her ear, her eyes smudged with eyeliner and her face somehow vulnerable without her glasses; and hours sped by like minutes - like the two hours within which we showered and dressed ourselves, managing to step out the front door of my building just as the last hints of pink faded from the sky and the first stars could be seen.

We didn't even notice that Laurent was no where to be found. We didn't notice and we didn't care. All that mattered were our growling stomachs.

"What a beautiful night!" Cosima said, grabbing my hand right away. "I feel like I'm walking in a Van Gogh painting!"

"Don't be so cheesy," I said, laughing at her eagerness.

"Oh, come on!" she said. "I'm in Paris! And not only that, I'm walking down the street arm-in-arm with a beautiful woman! I'm allowed to be as cheesy as I want to be!"

For a moment, I saw my surroundings through her eyes. I saw the cobble stone street. I saw the cafe on the corner with its round tables and warm interior lights, all of which cast long shadows out into the street. I looked up and I saw the sky, which had not turned black yet, but was still a soft shade of dark blue, inky and romantic. I saw my street through her eyes and I found, much to my surprise, that her excitement was contagious.

"What are we going to eat?" she said, tugging at my elbow.

"I was thinking crêpes," I said. "There is a pretty good place right around the corner."

"Oh, crê~~~pes!" she said, stretching the vowel out for emphasis. "That sounds very French."

"Yes, I suppose," I said, laughing. "Anyway, it's close and I'm starving."

"Me, too!" she said. "Me, too!"

When we arrived at the crêperie, there was already a small queue forming in front. I thought Cosima would be discouraged, so I assured her that the line would move quickly.

"Are you kidding?" she said. "That means it must be good! Obvs!"

She took out her phone.

"Mark is going to be so jealous!" she said, snapping a photo of the front of the building.

I couldn't help but laugh at her.

"Don't laugh," she said. "I'm excited."

"I know," I said. "And everything you say sounds like it has three exclamation marks attached to it."

"So what?!" she said. "I'm in Paris!"

It was a phrase she would use often in the next few days; at the obvious times, and also at the most mundane times, such as that one, standing in line for crêpes on a completely unremarkable street. Maybe, a few years ago, I would have been embarrassed or overwhelmed, as I had sometimes felt when Josh slipped into his francophilic art appreciation speeches.

But this was somehow different. When Cosima spoke of Van Gogh, she wasn't talking from an art history angle, nor was she being pretentious or self-conscious. She was speaking from her imagination and her sense of wonder.

I knew it, because I could see myself in her excited eyes. I could see myself in the way she touched the edge of the menu that was on display in front of the door, reading down the list of crêpes, as if she could understand the French. I could see myself in the way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and then the way she looked up at me and smiled, as if the menu, itself, had charmed her.

"Can you understand it?" I asked.

"Not really," she said. "What's good?"

I explained the menu to her and she leaned close to me, placing her hand on my forearm and nodding her head at every item. As I proceeded down the menu, I noticed her smile growing larger and her cheeks growing redder. At some point, she had turned away from the menu and was staring directly at my mouth.

"What?" I said, touching my own face.

"Nothing," she said. "I just like it when you speak French."

"Oh my god!" I whispered, hunching my shoulders and leaning close to her. "Am I turning you on?"

She laughed and shrugged. "Maybe," she said.

"Oh my god," I said again. "You have to concentrate. We should know our order before we sit down. The wait-staff here is really grumpy."

"Okay," she said. "Okay. I'm concentrating."

I started reading again, and as I did, I felt her hand massaging my forearm.

"Cosima," I said. "Please concentrate."

"I don't care," she said. "Everything sounds good. I trust your taste."

"Well, I usually get the basic jambon-fromage," I said, over-enunciating on purpose.

"Uh-huh," she said, licking her lips.

"But maybe that is too simple. I feel like you should try something more like the Bertine, which has œuf...jambon...fromage...et oignon."

She was hanging on my every word.

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head eagerly. "Let's get that one."

"You have no idea what I just said, do you?" I said, laughing.

"Not at all," she said. "But it sounds delicious."

A few moments later, the waitress showed us to our tiny table in the back of the tiny dining area. And with the speed of a buzzing bee, she took our order, set out our bottle of cider and cups, and sped off to address the next table.

Cosima looked around the place, eyes wide, shoulders high, fingers running over the warm wood grain of the table. She was taking in all the details of the room, the antlers on the wall, the old posters in the bohemian style, the stack of pre-cooked crêpe pastries that sat on top of the bar. Then she took out her phone and began taking pictures again.

"I never would have pegged you for such an enthusiastic tourist," I said, pouring the cider for us.

"Let's just say, I don't travel often," she said. "This is my one chance to make my life appear more exciting than it really is, you know, on social media."

"Oui," I said. "But, seriously, I can't believe you came here. I mean, how could you…"

I stalled because I didn't want to be rude.

"How could I afford it?" she said. "Well, let's just say I've been eating a lot of Cup-O-Noodles this semester."

"Oh, no," I said, remembering how thin her face had looked that morning. "Well, now you're here, I'm going to feed you well!"

"And what about you?" Cosima said. "Did you find another ticket for Christmas?"

"Not yet," I said. "I think I've been in denial about the whole thing. I mean, you kind of side-swiped me a little."

"Yeah," she said. "But I didn't expect you to stay for me."

"Cosima," I said, reaching for her hand. "Of course I stayed."

"But you should really find another ticket," she said, slipping her hand out from beneath mine. "If you can't find another one, then I will absolutely die of guilt. Like, I'm not even kidding."

She was scrolling through her phone, searching budget travel sites on my behalf.

"It's fine," I said. "I'll find something."

But, if her eagerness was contagious, her anxiety was equally so. I took out my phone as well, realizing that I hadn't looked at it once since that morning when Laurent had sent the text message for me. Reluctantly, I switched on the screen.

Right away, I saw the response message from my professor.

I'm very sorry to hear that, he said. Take care of yourself first, he said. But don't be in a rush to make new travel plans. The supply caravan that will carry us to the work site only travels into the city every few weeks, he said. Therefore, we will have to make special arrangements for your pick-up from the airport, if one can be arranged at all. Please await confirmation before purchasing a replacement plane ticket.

For a moment, the room became dark, or maybe it was just my eyes. And the sounds of the other patrons became muffled, or maybe it was just my ears. For a moment, it was hard to breathe.

...if one can be arranged at all… I thought. ...if at all…

The words echoed in my mind.

"Delphine?" Cosima said, suddenly. "What's wrong?"

"What?" I said, looking up. "Oh, it's nothing."

"You're as pale as a ghost," she said. "What's wrong?"

"It's just…" I said, unconsciously raising my hand to call the waitress.

She arrived almost immediately, and I ordered a bottle of wine.

"Delphine?" Cosima said again.

"It's just," I said again. "My trip to Kenya may be delayed even longer than I thought."

"Oh, no," Cosima said softly.

The wine appeared right away, and the waitress opened it with expert speed and precision. She poured a little in my glass and asked me to taste it. I swirled the wine around the glass and brought it to my nose, but I didn't smell a thing. I smiled and nodded my head, and the waitress poured our wine as Cosima and I sat in awkward silence.

"Well," Cosima said when the waitress was gone. "Delayed for how long?"

"We're not sure yet," I said. "Maybe indefinitely."

"Indefinitely?" she said. "So you're not going at all?"

She looked crushed, and I hated seeing her that way, so I tried to play it off.

"It's fine," I said. "I'm sure it will all work out. Besides, let's focus on the positive. We get to spend Christmas Eve together."

I raised my glass of wine. She just stared at me, her hand around the base of her wine glass, her thumb running up and down the stem nervously.

"This is my fault," she said finally, leaning back in her chair. "God, I'm so selfish."

"Cosima, please don't say that," I said, setting my glass down, and leaning across the table toward her. "I'm so happy you're here."

"I shouldn't have come," she said. "I should have known better."

"Please, please stop saying such things," I said, feeling tears welling up. "I have no regrets."

"Really?" Cosima said.

"Yes, of course," I said. "Even if I knew the consequences before hand, I would have made the same choice."

"That's just what I mean," Cosima said. "I'm selfish for putting you in this position. I shouldn't have made you choose. You shouldn't have had to choose."

"Cosima, listen to me," I said, reaching for her hand. "Last night, when I saw you in the hallway in front of my apartment, that was the happiest moment of my life. I'm not exaggerating. I'm completely serious, and I wouldn't trade that moment for a million internships or resume boosters."

Cosima took a deep breath, then took the hand that I had reached toward her, but she didn't say anything.

"Anyway," I said. "What's done is done. Now all we can do is make the best of the situation."

I lifted my wineglass, putting on the happiest face I could muster. I knew she could see right through me, could tell that I was still pretty shaken up, but she played along anyway. She lifted her glass, too.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

"Merry Christmas," I said.

We clinked our glasses together and took a sip of wine. Then, she stared at the wine in her glass before setting it down. Her face was pensive, and her shoulders slouched as she swirled the wine around. Then she looked up at me and smiled softly.

"This is pretty good," she said about the wine, but I heard the I'm sorry in her voice.

"It is, isn't it?" I said. "I think it deserves one more toast."

She laughed half-heartedly. "Okay."

We raised our glasses again, just as the waitress brought out what must have been the largest crêpe Cosima had ever seen. She couldn't hide her enthusiasm then.

"To no regrets!" I said.

"No regrets!" Cosima said, and I think, at that moment, we both actually meant it.


	12. Chapter 12

After the first glass of wine, the mood at our table lightened up a bit, and by the bottom of the bottle we were both slouching in our chairs. My stomach bulged beneath my sweater, and my cheeks ached with smiles, because Cosima was telling the story of her night in the JFK airport, her hands flying wildly over the table.

"So I was lying down with my head on my bag, and this guy sits right next me, and he puts his feet right next to my head," she said, attacking her own face with her hand.

"Okay," I said.

"I was like, 'Oh, great!' but I just rolled over and away from his feet. But then, he kicks off his shoes and gets real comfortable. 'Fine,' I thought. 'I mean, we are all in this together, right? We are all stuck in this airport. He has the right to be comfortable. We all do. Fine.'"

"Uh-huh," I said, knowing this wasn't the end of the story.

"But at some point, I must turn over, because his feet are right in my face, and his socks are so dirty, Delphine!" she said, smacking the table and cringing.

"Oh no!" I said.

"I kid you not, they were black, and there was a hole in the big toe, and all I could see was this guy's hairy big toe, right in my face," she continued.

"Disgusting," I said.

"And that's not the worst of it!" she exclaimed, waving her hand across the entire expanse of the table, knocking the nearly empty wine bottle onto the floor.

It shattered and a woman behind me screamed.

Cosima hunched over on herself, her shoulders pulled in tight and her hand clamped over her mouth. At first, she looked horrified, and then a giggle snuck its way up from her belly to her lips, escaping her mouth in an adorable puff-puff-puff.

I laughed with her, and at her.

The waitress, though, when she approached the table, did not laugh.

"Uh, I'm so sorry," I said. "We were just leaving."

"It's no problem," the waitress said, but her tone said we had just ruined her entire night.

I payed the check as fast as I could, leaving the money on the table and not waiting for change. Then we scurried out of the restaurant, we could barely contain our laughter before bursting out into the street.

"Did you see the look on her face?" Cosima said. "She hates me."

"So what?" I said, reaching for my pack of cigarettes. "I told you they were grumpy."

"Yeah, but, now I'm that spazzy American girl," Cosima said.

I opened the pack of cigarettes, and I was surprised to find only one left. I stopped in the middle of the street, cupping my hands around the lighter's weak flame, and Cosima kept walking, seemingly unaware that I had stopped.

I watched her strut down the street, her hands in the pockets of her red coat, which hung loosely from her petite shoulders. She walked so lightly, crossing one foot in front of the other as she went, that her boots barely made a sound against the cobblestones. She tilted her head to the side, her hair tied up in a bun, and the ends of her dreads dangled like ornaments.

And from all of that, even without seeing her face, I could tell she was smiling.

"So what's the worst part?" I said, slipping my lighter back into my pocket.

"What?" she said, turning around.

"What's the worst part about the hairy-toed-man?" I said.

"Oh, well!" she said, launching back into the story. "His feet reeked! Like, I'm guessing he hadn't washed those socks in weeks!"

"Ew!" I said, catching up with her and taking her arm. "So what did you do?"

"What could I do?" she said. "I just got up and moved to a different spot, a sock-free zone."

"And did you manage to sleep?" I said.

"Yeah, but it gets worse," she said.

"Wait, I thought that was the worst part."

"No," she said. "When I finally got on the plane the next morning, guess who I had the pleasure of sitting next to?"

"Non, non, non!" I said.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she said. "Seven hours and forty seven minutes of Mr. Sewage Socks!"

"That's horrible," I said. "I can't believe you survived it."

"You have no idea," she said, stopping to look up at me.

"Well, I, for one, appreciate your sacrifice," I said, recognizing the look in her eyes.

She watched my mouth as I took a drag of my cigarette, then she licked her own lips.

"God, I would kill for a blunt right now," she said.

"And here I thought you wanted to kiss me," I said.

"Well, I want that, too," she said, stepping closer to me and slipping her hands into my coat and around my waist.

"My breath probably smells like onions and cigarettes," I said, pulling away as she leaned up.

She grabbed my waist and held me still.

"I've smelled worse," she said, moving her hands up, clenching the collar of my coat. "And lived to tell about it."

I leaned over to kiss her, but then, someone called my name. It was Laurent.

"Bon soir, Delphine!" he said. "Bon soir, Cosima!"

Cosima and I jumped in unison, and without thinking, I took a step away from her. Her hands, after falling away from my coat, she tucked back into her own pockets.

"Hello, Laurent," she said before I did.

He had spotted us from across the street and had jogged over to meet us.

"Laurent," I said, clinging to the cigarette in my hand. "I barely recognized you!"

And it was true. He wore the same knit cap and pea coat, but his face was clean shaven and his wild mane of hair had been trimmed down close to the ears.

"Yeah, I took a trip to the barber's today," he said. "What do you think?"

"You look fine," I said, still feeling a little shaken up, still reminding myself that, yes, I was in Paris now, not San Francisco, and, yes, there are people here who recognize me.

Cosima looked from me to Laurent and then stretched her smile even wider across her face.

"You look very handsome," she said.

"Thanks so much for saying so," he said. "Where are you guys headed to anyway?"

"I don't know," Cosima said, turning her body toward me. "Where are we headed?"

"I don't know," I said. "I guess we hadn't really decided yet."

"Well," Laurent said, looking at his watch. "It's a bit late to be heading into the city. Why don't I pick up a few things in l'epicerie and we can hang out at the flat? I think I owe you at least a bottle of wine."

"Oh," I said, looking at Cosima. "I'm not sure. It's Cosima's first night in Paris."

"No, no," Cosima said, shrugging her shoulders. "That's fine with me. I'm down for whatever."

"See," Laurent said, "She's down for whatever!"

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Yeah, definitely," she said.

"Great!" Laurent said. "Super! I will just step in here for a minute and pick up some things."

He pointed at the corner store over my shoulder. He stepped around me faster than I could resist. The bell on the door rang as he pushed inside. I looked at Cosima.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"It's fine," she said. "I don't mind staying in."

Just then Laurent popped his head back out of the store.

"Do you prefer red wine or white?" he shouted from the door.

"Red!" Cosima shouted back. "And cigarettes!"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said and he was gone again.

I looked at Cosima and smiled. "Cigarettes?"

"What?" she said. "They're not for me."

Laurent came out of the shop carrying two heavy bags.

"What on earth did you buy in there?" I said.

"Just some presents," he said. "If I'm going to keep you cooped up in the apartment, then I'd better treat you right."

"This is starting to sound more interesting," Cosima said.

/

On the way home, Laurent began reminiscing about the old days, when our family lived in a flat similar to the one I was in now, on a street only a few blocks away.

"God, it didn't seem small at the time," he said, "but how did all four of us survive in there?"

"We shared a bedroom, that's how," I said, more than a little bitter. "Until you were too old and you kicked me out."

"Oh come on, you didn't mind," he said. "You loved that sofa couch."

"Loved it?" I said. "I had a sore neck for most of fifth grade."

"Well, it didn't last long, did it? I got out of everyone's hair soon after that," he said.

Cosima listened to our conversation, walking close to my side, not reaching for my hand, but intentionally bumping my elbow every few steps.

"How old were you when you moved out?" she asked.

"I was eighteen," he said, then he looked up and smiled. "It was right after I got out of this place!"

He stopped walking right in front of an iron gate. Laurent, his arms loaded with groceries, stepped up to the gate and looked in. I knew exactly where we were, but Cosima looked confused.

"It's our old high school," I said.

"This one? This exact one?" she said, looking pleasantly surprised.

She also took a step toward the gate. She reached for the iron bars and squinted to see into the dark yard.

"Wow," she said. "It's a beautiful building!"

"It's old and decrepit," I said. "It was old and decrepit when we attended here fifteen years ago."

"I had a lot of good times here," Laurent said with a sigh. "Ah, the good old days."

"You were hardly ever here," I said. "You cut class every other day."

"That was the best part," he said. "So many good times."

"You never cut class?" Cosima asked me.

"I don't think so," I said.

"Not even to smoke a cigarette?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I didn't cut class to do that. But I did sneak over to the primary school on breaks. It's just over there, can you see it?"

Cosima leaned as close to the gate as she could without pressing her face against the cold metal. As she leaned the gate shifted, the chain rattled, and the bottom latch scraped loudly against the ground. Cosima jumped. But when she stepped back, a space had opened up between the two sides of the gate - a space just big enough for a person to pass through.

Cosima looked at me with raised eyebrows.

"Do you have my cigarettes?" I asked Laurent.

He handed them over. His eyes were full of mischief and envy.

"Have fun," he said. "I'll go on ahead and prepare you presents."

"Fine!" I said.

When I turned around, Cosima was already on the other side of the gate. I slipped through behind her, giggling.

"Oh, hey!" Laurent said, hurrying back toward us. "I need the key!"

"Of course," I said.

I reached through the gate and slipped the key into his coat pocket.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said with a wink and then he was gone.

I was so excited, I nearly skipped to where Cosima was waiting for me in the dark yard. I grabbed her hand and led her, both giggling and shushing us, as we made our way toward the playground in the primary school yard.

This is not where I expected to be tonight, I thought.

My heart was racing.

I watched Cosima climb the wooden ladder that led to the small covered landing, which in turn led to a wooden bridge on one side, and to a metal slide on the other. She sat down in that little area, and I knew why. It was the same place I had smoked my first cigarette all those years ago. She sat on that landing because its roof and walls offered a little bit of privacy.

"Come on," Cosima said, her voice sounding incredibly loud in the quiet yard.

My heart fluttered and bounced, as if it was only tied to my chest by a string. As I scaled the ladder, she reached out her hand and giggled. I felt so light that I might float away.

No, this is not what I expected, I thought. This is much, much better.


	13. Chapter 13

We sat face to face and cross-legged in that little alcove. It was so small, that we had to squeeze ourselves to fit in, our knees pressed up against each other in the dark. Automatically, my hands reached for my cigarettes and lighter. The little flame lit up the space momentarily, and Cosima cupped her hands around mine, though there wasn't much wind coming through.

"Merci," I said.

Then the lighter was out and the air was dark again.

Cosima touched my leg and, leaning forward, pecked me on the cheek.

"What was that for?" I said, exhaling.

"Just because," she said, then the air was silent between us for a few moments, save for the sound of my exhales.

Our eyes adjusted to the dark, and Cosima peeked out of the alcove and around the schoolyard.

"Did you go to school here, too?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, pointing behind me with my thumb. "Our house was about fifteen minutes that way."

"Wow," Cosima said. "This is, like, better than seeing the Mona Lisa."

"Oh, shut up," I said. "It's just a school."

"No, I'm serious!" she said. "It's like a window into your history, you know? Like, I can totally imagine you here...playing...running around."

"Well, then prepare to be blown away," I said, pulling my lighter out again.

"What?" she said.

I flicked the lighter, and the little flame danced back to life. I extended the light toward the walls and ceiling, illuminating the hand-carved graffiti that covered every centimeter of the wood; layers and layers of names and initials, carved out over decades.

Cosima's eyes followed the light, and her bottom lip dropped in concentration. I stopped just over the faded shape of a heart, which could only barely be seen, because other people had written over it, but the carving was still there, and within the heart were two sets of initials.

"Do you see it?" I asked Cosima.

She leaned close to the wall, and then stroked the carving with the tip of her middle finger.

"D.C. + E.R.?" Cosima said, looking at me for confirmation.

"Oui," I said.

"Delphine Cormier and…" she said.

"Emile Rose," I said.

"Emile Rose?" she said, with a hint of feigned jealousy. "First boyfriend?"

"No," I said with a laugh. "But, God was I in love with him. He was the most handsome boy in my class, and…he didn't even know I existed. I carved that out in a fit of wishful thinking...or angsty longing. I can't remember which it was."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating," Cosima said.

"Maybe," I said. "But, anyway, I was too awkward in high school. I was a head taller than the other girls and my legs were too long, and my neck was too long, and my hair was always a frizzy mess. I always felt like I was stepping on someone's shoe or knocking things over. I felt like a clumsy ostrich."

"Well," Cosima said. "I know that can't be true, because an ostrich's brain is smaller than its eye, and even though you have lovely big, brown eyes, I'm pretty sure your brain is bigger."

I laughed.

"It's true," I said. "At least I was smart. That was one thing I had going for me."

"God," Cosima said, reaching for my hand. "If I had met you back then…"

"Oh, God," I said. "I can't even imagine. I wouldn't have known what to do if I had met you back then. I mean, I certainly didn't know that I was...bisexual...or that I could be."

"I would have found a way," she said.

"A way to what?" I said.

"To seduce you, of course," she said quietly and confidently.

I felt butterflies; flip, flip and I was floating again.

Smiling, I puffed the last bit of my cigarette and then stubbed it out on the wood floor before putting the butt back into my pack.

"And how would you do that?" I said softly.

"Well, I'm guessing we would have had some similar classes, like biology or chemistry," she said.

"Yes," I said. "That's true."

"So, it would be easy. I would have figured out a way to be your lab partner," she said.

"I see," I said. "And that's it? I wouldn't have known that you liked me. I told you, I was clueless in those days. And clumsy. I probably would have set your hair on fire in the lab, or something."

"Well," she said. "Wearing all the necessary safety gear, I would have casually asked you to hang out, probably at my house, you know, to study."

"Uh-huh," I said, trying to picture it in my mind. "Wait, did you have dreads in high school?"

"No," she said. "I also had wild curly hair, but I put way too much hairspray in it to keep it under control."

"Okay," I said. "And the eyeliner?"

"Nope," she said. "Maybe just some mascara."

"Okay," I said. "Nose ring?"

"Yes, but not until senior year," she said. "Can I continue?"

"Yes, I was just trying to picture it, go ahead."

"Alright, well, after hanging out for a few weeks, we'd probably end up hanging out right here, on this playground, while you smoked a cigarette."

"Wait, you don't smoke," I said.

"No, but, if I met you, things might have been different," she said.

"Thank god you didn't meet me then," I said.

"Anyway, on a cold afternoon, you'd smoke your cigarette and I'd just sit here and stare at you, and then pretend like I'm not staring at your mouth, but you'd maybe notice it."

"Uh-huh," I said.

"And then you'd put your cigarette out, and I'd be, like, putting lip gloss on my lips, and you'd see me do it."

"Uh-huh," I said.

"And then, I'd turn to you and say, 'It's kinda cold out, do you want some lip gloss?'" Cosima said.

Her last question hung in the dark air.

"That's it?" I said. "That's your big move?"

"Yeah," she said. "It works every time."

"Wait, you've actually used this on girls before?" I said.

"Are you trying to say that you would not take the lip gloss?" she said.

"No," I said. "I guess I would take it."

"And while you were putting it on your lips, you wouldn't think about how it was just on my lips?" she said.

"Well, maybe," I said. "Probably. But I wouldn't know what it meant. Not at that time."

"That's fine," she said. "Because I would have known. And I would have known you were interested."

"You say that now," I said. "But I'm telling you, I was a complete mess when it came to dating and romance and normal social interaction. I was a late bloomer, to say the least."

"Even better," Cosima said. "Then I could have offered to give you lessons."

"Lessons?" I said.

"Yes, because I was now your new best friend, it would be my obligation," she said.

"Lessons in what?" I said.

"In kissing," Cosima said.

I giggled.

I giggled because the thirty-year-old me thought the idea was absurd; and I giggled because the sixteen-year-old me was blushing all over and squirming in her seat.

Cosima giggled, too, but then her hand was on my knee again, her fingers icy cold.

"Have you ever kissed anyone before?" she said, her voice echoing strangely in that tiny space. She swallowed loudly.

"No," I said, and I didn't know why I said it.

"It's easy," she said, leaning forward a little.

"Oh?" I said. "Have you?"

"Yeah," she said. "I can show you, if you want."

"Okay," I said, my throat tight.

"Okay," she said, and then she was up on her knees, leaning toward me.

She put her hands on both sides of my face, and tilted my head back. She looked down in my eyes and brushed a strand of hair from my face.

"Try to relax," she said. "Keep your mouth relaxed... and some people like it if you keep your lips open, just a little bit, but not too much. And don't use tongue on the first try."

"Okay," I said.

"Okay," she said. "I'm gonna kiss you now. Do you want me to?"

"Oui," I said.

She leaned over and kissed me with her eyes closed, slipping one hand behind my neck, tilting my chin up with the other, moving her head slightly to the side after our lips touched. I remembered her instructions about leaving my mouth open, and I realized, it was true, I usually did do that when I really liked someone. And I remembered her rule against tongues, and then all I could think about was tongues, and my god I wanted to taste her mouth.

But then she pulled away, and I found myself leaning forward after her, biting my bottom lip. She settled back onto her knees and lowered her hands to her own lap.

"There," she said, sounding quite happy with herself. "That wasn't so hard was it."

"God," I said. "That was so much better than my real first kiss."

"Are you ready to try tongue?" she said, not breaking character for a minute.

"Oui," I said.

"Well," she said, leaning toward me again, and placing both of her hands on my shoulders. "This part is tricky, because it can get gross really fast if you don't know what you're doing."

"I see," I said.

She climbed toward me, until she had straddled me and was sitting in my lap, her face right in front of mine, and her arms around my neck. I welcomed her warmth.

"Um, where should I put my hands?" I said.

"Anywhere you feel comfortable," she said.

I hesitated. My palms seemed plastered to the floor beneath me.

God, Delphine, I told myself, you aren't actually sixteen years old.

"What about here?" Cosima said, guiding my hands to her hips. "Is this comfortable?"

"Sure," I said. "Yeah, great."

"Good," Cosima said, settling her hands back to my shoulders.

She brushed one icy finger tip against my earlobe, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Oh!" Cosima said. "You're shaking!"

"Of course!" I said. "It's cold out here!"

But that wasn't the real reason I was shaking. The real reason had something to do with my imagination, my memories, and the way in which Cosima had managed to put her finger on the pulse of my sixteen year old self; the one that used to sit in that exact spot, smoking cigarettes and pining away; the one that used to long for someone to look at her the way Cosima was looking at me then.

I looked away, suddenly embarrassed.

"Maybe we should go," I said. "Laurent will be waiting for us."

"Wait," Cosima said. "What happened? Did I say something?"

"No," I said. "No. It's just...this is just... too improbable."

She laughed at me. "I'm just playing. It's just fun."

"I know, I know," I said. "But somehow… I'm still that girl, you know. Like I didn't grow out of her. She's still here and she still remembers what it was like to feel like an ugly ostrich. Like, when I go out, to a restaurant or a club or another city, of course, I can easily be someone else, but for some reason, being here - right here - it's hard to forget her. I feel like we're rubbing it in her face a little. Does that even make sense?"

Cosima sighed, and her hands slipped down to my chest.

"Look," she said. "I have a confession to make. I've never seduced anyone with lip gloss."

She looked away, her voice suddenly serious.

"I didn't have any game in high school, either," she continued. "My first girlfriend was the one who seduced me and she was my only girlfriend until college, and I was so heartbroken when she dumped me that I couldn't even look at other girls."

Cosima tucked her hands into my coat, her head down, her shoulders sloped forward.

"I was just an ugly ostrich, too," she said. "And I never understood what she saw in me, and I spent all those years wondering why she had chosen me, and I thanked my lucky stars, and then one day, she just… un-chose me."

Cosima tugged at the hem of my sweater pensively.

"Maybe I just wanted to pretend...do it over again and pretend.. like I'm the one in control...you know?" she said.

She looked up at me and shrugged.

I took her face in my hands and squeezed her cheeks together in my palms. Then we sighed in tandem.

"It's kind of cold out here," I said after a moment of silence.

"Yeah," she said, starting to pull away from me. "We should go."

"No," I said, holding her still by her face. "I mean, it's kind of cold, so I was wondering if I could borrow your lip gloss."

Cosima relaxed back into my lap, breathing a laugh and looking up at me from beneath her eyebrows.

"Sure," she said.

She pulled out a tube of lip gloss, removing the cap before handing it over to me. She watched my mouth as I applied, ever so carefully, lingering in a dramatic sort of way. Her mouth twisted tighter and tighter into a smile the longer I dragged the tube across my mouth, until finally she rolled her eyes and laughed.

Keeping a straight face, I handed the lip gloss back to her.

"Merci," I said.

"You're welcome," she said.

And then I kissed her, disregarding all warnings about tongues and open mouths and things getting messy. I kissed her like a horny teenager, my hands awkwardly roaming all over her body, my hips and legs squirming underneath her. And she ground herself down against me, rocking me painfully against the wooden wall. She slipped her icy hand up the front of my sweater, and I thrust up so hard, that I launched her in the air. She banged her head against the ceiling.

She cried out, and then grabbed at her head, slumping over into my shoulder and laughing hysterically.

"I'm so sorry!" I said. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," she said. "I'm fine. I'd say that was pretty accurate though; that's probably what our first make out would have been like."

"I told you," I said. "Clumsy ostrich."

"I don't care," she said, still laughing. "You're my clumsy ostrich, and I thank my lucky stars that you chose me..."

Her last words trailed off, as if she lost a little bit of confidence with each successive word.

I pulled her into a hug, burying my face into her warm neck.

And, I could never un-choose you, I thought.

But I didn't say it. I rubbed her back and her arms instead.

"Let's go inside," I said. "We're not teenagers; we don't have to hang out in school yards. We are successful adults with nice flats and warm beds."

"And wine!" Cosima said.

"And wine!" I said. "Exactly!"

We untangled our limbs and unfolded ourselves down the ladder until we were standing in the chilly open air. Then, hand in hand, we hurried back through the iron gate and onto the sidewalk. As we made our way down the street, taking brisk steps with our shoulders hunched forward, I managed to catch one more glimpse of the little playground through the fence. I imagined myself, young and heavy-hearted, carving out a heart for a boy who never wanted me.

Don't worry, Delphine, I wished I could have told myself. Someone better is coming and she was worth the wait.


	14. Chapter 14

Before we even reached the third floor, we were met with the delicious smells of melting butter mixed with garlic mixed with toasted bread. I glanced at Cosima. The look of expectation on her face told me that she, too, was intrigued.

"What is Laurent up to?" I said, reaching for the door.

"I don't know, but it smells delicious," she said, watching my hand in anticipation.

I opened the door to find Laurent standing in the kitchen, an apron around his waist and an oven mitt on his hand. He spun around at the sound of the closing door.

"Ah-ha!" he said. "Welcome home, ladies!"

"What are you doing?" I said, slipping out of my coat and shoes.

"Preparing the presents," he said, opening the oven and pulling out a tray of freshly broiled bruschetta.

"That smells amazing!" Cosima said. "But I'm not sure how I can eat another bite after that crêpe."

"Yes, me too," I said. "I'm still stuffed."

"Oh no!" Laurent said, slipping off the oven mitt. "There is more where this came from."

"More?" I said.

"Oh yes!" he said. "We also have brie and baguette and I prepared a small fruit plate as well."

Cosima and I groaned in unison.

"Perhaps after a glass of wine," I said, reaching for the bottle.

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Cosima agreed.

"Or..." Laurent said, hurrying out of the kitchen and over to the coat stand by the door.

He slid his hand into the pocket of his coat and searched around. Finding nothing, he switched to the other pocket.

"I have an even better idea," he said, smiling as he pulled out a little plastic bag.

"No shit!" Cosima said, leaping forward.

To be honest, it wasn't until Laurent took a step closer, shaking the bag and smiling, that its contents suddenly became apparent.

"So, do you guys want a little smoke?" Laurent said.

"Um, is the sky blue!?" Cosima answered.

"Magnifique!" Laurent said. "I know the perfect place to smoke."

"Where?" I said, extra confused because it was my flat, and I was pretty sure there wasn't a secret balcony that I hadn't discovered yet.

"The roof!" Laurent said. "It has a wonderful view."

"The roof?" I said. "I don't think we're allowed up there."

"Nonsense," Laurent said. "I was just up there thirty minutes ago."

"Isn't the door locked?" I said.

"Kind of," he said.

"What do you mean, kind of?" I said.

"I mean, it was, but now it's not," he said, sitting down on the sofa. "Now, let me just fix this up for us, and then you will have your appetite back in no time."

Cosima sat down next to him. Her eyes wide.

"I'm pretty sure that is illegal," I said, but neither of them were paying attention to me.

"If you do it like this," Cosima started to offer advice, reaching over Laurent's hands, "it will burn longer."

"Please," Laurent said, leaning back. "Be my guest."

Well, I'm glad they're bonding, at least, I thought.

And Laurent was right; the view from the roof, which stretched over the entire city, was beautiful. From our vantage point, the Eiffel Tower stood a little left of center the city, easily recognizable by the spotlight flashing every few moments; and the rest of the city was a stretch of flat boulevards and flat rooftops, with only one or two prominent hills, and all of it covered in warm, twinkling lights.

I heard Cosima gasp as she stepped out of the stairwell.

"Wow!" she said, hurrying over to the edge of the roof and leaning against the low wall. "Is that...?"

"La Tour Eiffel?" I said. "Oui."

I followed her slowly, letting her take in the view.

"And there is the Sacre Cœur on Montmartre," I said, pointing to a distant hill. "And Notre Dame, there, but I'm not sure you will be able to make it out."

"No, I can see it," she said. "I can def see it. This is, like, crazy surreal!"

"We shouldn't have slept all day," I said. "I should have actually taken you to these places. What a waste of time."

"Don't say that," she said, rubbing my back and leaning into my side. "It was totally worth it."

I heard Laurent behind me; the click of the lighter, and the dramatic inhale. I shouldn't have been surprised, but the smell reminded me of San Francisco.

Cosima must have heard him too, because she stood up straighter, taking a step away from me and pointing.

"What is that tall one?" she asked.

"That is La Tour Montparnasse, the only skyscraper within the city limits of Paris," I said.

"Hey, there aren't any skyscrapers, are there?" Cosima said. "I guess I'd never really noticed it before."

"Actually," I said, slipping into tour guide mode, "There are strict building codes called alignement, which were supposedly implemented in the 1700's, and which greatly restrict the height of buildings to be in alignment with the width of the streets they are adjacent to."

"Wow, a three hundred year old building code, huh?" she said.

"Yes," I said.

"Well, I have to give it to you guys, you sure do stick to your traditions," she said. "Besides, it definitely adds a certain old-world charm to the city."

"Or a certain mundaneness," I said, reaching for Cosima's hand. "But now that you're here, things seem much more...exciting."

She turned her face toward me and her eyes were bright with the kind of buoyant excitement that only be found in the eyes of the young or in the eyes of travelers. I squeezed her hand and she sighed; one breath out and she bit her lip.

"I'm so happy," she said softly. "Everything is perfect."

I melted a little inside. No, melt isn't an accurate verb. I evaporated a little inside. I felt myself lifting up to her level of presence. I looked out onto the cityscape, and considered my luck.

"Me, too," I said, leaning close to her ear.

Laurent cleared his throat behind us.

"Who's next?" he said.

Startled, we separated slightly, both turning and then leaning back against the low wall. I brushed my own hair aside and Cosima tucked her hands into her coat pockets.

"Oh, don't be shy," he said. "I figured all that out a long time ago."

Cosima looked at me out of the corner of her eye, perhaps trying to confirm the truth of his statement. I shrugged my shoulders, but was too embarrassed to lift my head completely.

"Here," he said.

He handed the joint to Cosima, and she took it eagerly, wasting no time in bringing it to her lips. She inhaled, holding her breath, her head back and her eyes closed, her face relaxed into the moment, as if determined to enjoy it. We three stood completely still, save for the wind that ruffled the collar of my coat and the tips of Cosima's hair. Then her eyes fluttered open and she exhaled.

"Whoa," she said in a low voice, "That's good shit."

Holding the joint delicately between her forefinger and thumb, she reached toward me, smiling.

"Oh, no," I said, waving my hand. "The last time I smoked I just ended up shouting profanities in English and upsetting the neighbors."

"That sounds like fun," Laurent said. "When was this?"

"In San Francisco," Cosima said. "The night we first met."

"You got her high on your first date?" Laurent said, reaching for the joint.

He took a drag and looked at me.

"I like this girl already," he said.

"Apparently, so did she," Cosima said, one eyebrow cocked cheekily.

Her punchline hung in the air a moment, as if we were all waiting for Laurent to exhale. Cosima was the first one to crack a smile, looking back and forth between Laurent and I. Then, we all burst into laughter.

"Well," Laurent said. "I'm glad someone finally corrupted her. She's always been kind of straight-laced."

"It wasn't that difficult," Cosima said.

Cocky little jerk! I thought.

"Oh come on, guys. I'm right here," I said.

"And where did you guys meet?" Laurent said.

"At the California Academy of Sciences," Cosima said. "In the aquarium, specifically. Right next to an albino alligator."

"Sounds romantic," Laurent said.

He was poking fun at me.

"It was romantic," I said, crossing my arms. "In its own way."

And then I was suddenly racing back in my mind, landing on the image of her standing by the alligator exhibit, her head down and her eyes scanning the papers of her clipboard, which she nestled against her stomach. I remembered the curve of her neck. I remembered the polo shirt and the khakis which clashed with her bracelets and hair. I remembered how her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. And I remember the butterflies. When she lifted her head at the sound of my voice, when she smiled, when she cocked her head to the side; I remembered those butterflies.

I sighed.

"I don't doubt it," Laurent said. "So, has this been going on since then? Since this summer?"

He pointed a finger back and forth between us.

"Well," Cosima said, "as much as it can be going on from another hemisphere."

Another hemisphere, her words echoed in my mind. Is it really so far?

"And between classes, seminars and thesis projects," she added, shrugging her shoulders before looking at me. "But, we do our best, right?"

"Right," I said with my mouth, but I hoped she saw how much I wanted to kiss her. I hoped she saw it in my eyes.

"Right," Laurent said. "Well, at least you're together now. That's something to celebrate isn't it?"

As he said it, and the air fell silent. I turned toward him just in time to see his mouth curl into a slight frown. His eyes drifted down to the ground and out of focus. Obviously, he had turned his mind inward for a moment, though what he was thinking of, I couldn't guess. He took another puff of the joint. With no beard to hide his face, I thought for a moment that he looked...melancholy.

But then he passed the joint to Cosima and the frown was gone.

"Are you ladies getting hungry yet?" he asked.

"Oh, fuck yeah," Cosima said nonchalantly.

"Uh-oh," I said. "Don't get her started."

/

We made several trips up to the roof that night, and eventually I became quite drunk; probably because they were smoking, and because they were so compatible. I leaned against the wall, drinking and smoking cigarettes, listening to their passionate conversations about oceans, marine mammals, modern day pirates and poaching. Cosima spoke of an idea for a thesis she once read, one project that proposed to make a whale in the size of a goldfish.

"But not the other way around," she was careful to add, "because the idea of a goldfish the size of a whale was just too terrifying to consider."

Laurent laughed, but I had heard that punch line before, so I only half-heartedly giggled.

But I wasn't really all that jealous. No, not really. I was also having fun, in my own quiet sort of way. I watched these two interact, trading factoids, anecdotes, jokes and laughs. I watched them in awe, because forty-eight hours ago, I had neither one. Forty-eight hours ago I had been alone. And now, my long lost brother, Laurent, who was loud, rambunctious and full of energy was chatting with my long distance girlfriend, Cosima, and getting her as high as a kite.

So I stood, leaning against the stairwell door, with a wine bottle in my hand, not even sure when I had stopped using the glass.

Look at these two dorks, I thought. Who knew you could talk so long about whales?

"I have a joke!" I said, a little bit too loudly.

They turned toward me, surprised at the sudden, drunken interjection.

"Okay, let's hear it then," Laurent said.

"What do whales like to chew?" I said.

They both stared, Laurent with a casual smile, and Cosima with a look of determination.

"Wait," she said. "Wait! I think I've heard this one. Let me think!"

Laurent tapped his foot on the ground. Cosima brought her palm to her head.

"Oh, nevermind," she said. "I don't know!"

"We don't know," Laurent said. "What do whales chew?"

"BLUBBER GUM!" I shouted, my arms stretched wide.

We laughed, all of us; me, leaning forward and hugging myself; Laurent, leaning back and bellowing into the night air; and Cosima, shaking her head back and forth.

"That's pretty good," she giggled to herself. "That's pretty good."

"Wait," I said with the persistence of a drunk. "I have another one. Wait, wait."

"Okay, okay," they said, bringing their laughter down.

"This one is especially for you ma chèrie," I said to Cosima.

"Très romantic," she said in her American accent.

"Okay," I said. "What is the difference between a dog and a marine biologist?"

"Oh dear," Cosima said. "This sounds like it might get offensive."

"It's not, I swear," I said.

"I don't know, what?" she said.

"One wags a tail and the other tags a whale," I said, the words bubbling out in a series of giggles at the end, so that Laurent and Cosima almost didn't understand me.

"One wags a tail and the other TAGS A WHALE!" I repeated.

Cosima shook her head at me and laughed, bringing the joint to her lips. Laurent patted me on the back, his laughter growing with each pat.

"I had no idea you were such a comedian!" he said, tears forming in his eyes.

"It's a good joke, right?" I said, also crying.

Cosima continued to shake her head, watching as Laurent grabbed me up into a big bear hug. We laughed into each other's shoulders.

"Oh my god," Cosima said. "You guys laugh in the exact same way!"

"No, we don't!" I said.

"Yeah, you definitely do," she said. "It's uncanny!"

Laurent let me go and I stepped away, but continued to hold him by his forearm.

"Guess we're related after all," he said.

"Guess so," I said, looking at his smiling face. I felt a swell of emotion, most likely brought on by the wine. I squeezed his arm.

"I love you," I said suddenly, surprising him and myself.

"I love you, too," he said.

"It's good to have you home," I said, leaning in for another hug.

But then I stumbled and ended up falling into his arms.

"Whoa! Whoa!" he said, helping me catch my balance. "Looks like someone had too much fun tonight."

Cosima took the empty bottle from my hand. "Did you drink this whole bottle by yourself?" she asked, only half laughing.

"I don't know, maybe," I said. "I was having fun! I was happy!"

I saw Laurent and Cosima exchange looks.

I knew I was drunk, but I couldn't stop myself from shouting.

"I'm happy!" I shouted. "I have my two favorite people in the whole world! And you're both right here! On my roof! In Paris! And it's Christmas! Come here!"

I lunged for both of them at the same time, pulling them into an awkward three way hug. Kind as they were, they obliged me.

"I love you guys!" I said in sloppy English.

"Ditto," I heard Cosima say, her voice muffled in the sleeve of my coat.

"But, hey," she said. "I think maybe we should call it a night."

"What?" I said. "No! The night is young! And there is still so much food to eat!"

"Not really," Laurent said, stepping back, leaving me on Cosima's shoulder. "But there will be plenty tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What's tomorrow?" I said.

"Christmas Eve, of course," he said.

"Christmas Eve?" I said. "But we're not celebrating Christmas Eve, are we?"

"Why not?" he said. "We're all here."

"Yes, but mother and father don't know I'm here," I said. "And you've already pissed them off."

"Actually," he said, wincing slightly as he continued, "I may have told mother that you were still here."

"You may have?" I said, suddenly not so euphoric, suddenly rather pissed off.

"I didn't know it was a secret!" he said, laughing heartily, as if I was overreacting. "They would have found out anyway, don't you think? I mean, who was going to pay for the new plane ticket?"

He had a point, but that didn't mean I was happy about it. Cosima stood by my side, her head turning back and forth between us, as if she were watching a riveting tennis match.

"So," I said. "What time is dinner?"

"Seven," he said.

"Wonderful," I said, turning to look at Cosima. She smiled shyly and shrugged her shoulders.

"It sounds like fun," she said.

"Yes," I said. "I'm sure it will be. Christmas Eve is always fun, especially the years that Laurent is home."

I walked toward the stairwell door.

"Oh, there is one more thing," Laurent said behind me, his voice less cheery now.

"What's that?" I said.

"I offered to have it here, at yours," he said. "Mother wasn't sure if father would come around by then, so she just assumed it would be easier to have it here. You know how stubborn he can be."

"Perfect," I said, my voice echoing coldly down the dark stairwell. "Just perfect."

"Sorry, Delphine," he said after me. "Really."

"It's fine," I said.

But it wasn't fine, and I wasn't at all mentally prepared for this scenario.

Cosima and my parents, I thought. My parents and Cosima. On Christmas Eve. In the same room.

And then, I'm going to kill you, Laurent!


	15. Chapter 15

All the way down the stairs, and through the hallway, and into the apartment, I leaned on Cosima's shoulder; her arm around my back and her breath in my ear. To be honest, that is the last moment that I remember clearly. The moments after that, which must have only been a few, were spotty.

The next I remembered I woke up in my bed in the dark. My body was heavy, and when I turned my head, the room revolved around me wildly. I thought I might be sick so I held my breathe.

If I don't move, I thought. If I absolutely stay still, then everything will be okay.

Just then, I felt Cosima's hand, warm and unexpected, slide up my forearm. But then she was still again. I felt her breath sweep across the top of the covers and brush my face, and I knew she was asleep. I brought my hand to my face. I realized then that I was wearing different clothes; an old, loose t-shirt. I must not have been sleeping soundly, because the shirt was bunched up around my armpits, leaving me naked and cold.

I sat up in bed, which set the ceiling rolling like a hamster wheel over my head. The shirt fell back down to my legs, and my legs were bare. I wasn't even wearing any underwear.

Oh god, I thought. Did we?

I looked down at Cosima. She was laying on her side, curled up like a cat, her fingers still resting on my arm and her face snug against the pillow. I pulled the covers back from her shoulder just slightly, and I saw that she was also wearing one of my old t-shirts.

I slipped my hand down between my legs, searching for signs of sex, but my thighs were dry. Relieved that I hadn't had sloppy/bad sex and forgotten about it, my thoughts then turned to my thirst. God, I was so thirsty!

I stood up slowly, hoping the hamster wheel would steady itself soon, and made my way to the bathroom.

I closed the door before turning on the light. I squinted and groaned, intentionally avoiding my reflection as I reached for a water glass. I gulped down two glasses. Panting and out of breath, I set the glass on the counter as quietly as possible. A moment or two passed before I looked up and met my own gaze.

I looked like shit. My eyes were bloodshot and my skin was pale, but the alcohol was still working its magic in my brain, because my haggard reflection suddenly cracked a smile and laughed back at me. It had been only a few nights earlier, after all, that I had stood in that exact same spot, leaning on the counter, my heart heavy with loneliness. It had only been a few nights ago that I had wished more than anything to have Cosima within arm's reach: physical, embraceable, solid.

I cracked open the bathroom door, just enough that a band of light settled over Cosima's frame and cast harsh shadows across the bed. Even from where I was, if I stood very still, I could hear her breathing. If I walked to the bed and touched her ear, I knew that she would turn to me, possibly smile and yawn; and sleepily ask why I had woken her.

I want this, I thought to myself. I want this all the time.

I wanted her in my life, not in an ethereal, figurative, existential way. I didn't want the idea of her, because it wasn't enough. It was not enough to know she was over there in San Francisco, living her life and thinking of me, calling me her girlfriend to her friends or to potential romantic suitors. It wasn't enough to stay here in Paris, pretending to everyone - save one friend and a hairdresser - that I was single and too busy for romance.

I wanted the reality of her. I wanted her body, with its gestures, muscles and movements. I wanted her face with its infinite catalogue of expressions; expressions that were simultaneously uncanny and familiar. I wanted her hands - her never still hands - with their inexplicable ability to express her intelligence; to express her tenderness; to express her desire. I wanted all the those things that can't be touched or seen through a computer screen; those things that can't be heard over a telephone.

And if I want this, I thought. What do I have to give up for it? My career? My family?

For a moment my heart skipped a beat, a side effect of the adrenalin. I had never really considered losing my family before. I had always done the right thing. I had always been the good child. And in return, my parents had always supported me. I had never really known neglect or financial insecurity.

And now? I thought. Is this the reason for them to finally cut me loose as they have done to Laurent?

The thought terrified me.

My mind hurried down this line of reasoning, carrying me along like a shipwrecked sailor is carried along in the pull of a strong current. I was both fearful and hopeful at where I might end up.

If they stop supporting me, I thought, then I would have to support myself. I'd have to find a job, and if I had to find a job, I wouldn't have time to finish my thesis. Not to mention the fact that I wouldn't have the time or the money to see Cosima. She would be even more out of reach than she already is.

My chest squeezed in on itself, and I couldn't breathe. The room started to whirl again, sending me reeling back from the door. I grabbed the door frame and gasped.

"Delphine?" Cosima said from the bed. "Are you okay?"

She was leaning up on her elbow, squinting into the light of the bathroom.

"Yes," I said. "I'm just a little...drunk."

"Obvs," Cosima said with a sleepy giggle, then she let her head fall back onto the pillow.

"Do you want some water?" I whispered.

There was no answer. She had already fallen back to sleep.

I turned off the bathroom light and stepped into the dark bedroom. I stood there for some long moments, waiting for my eyes to adjust, but then I just kept standing there. Somehow, I couldn't cross the last steps to the bed. I couldn't make myself lay down on the bed, knowing it would send me spinning again, knowing I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, not with all of the doubts and worries swimming through my head.

So I just stood there, quietly hugging myself, until the room had faded from black to light gray.

So this is it, I thought. I have to lie. I have to lie to them. If I want to keep everyone, my parents and Cosima and my career, then I have to lie. It's not so different from my other relationships, right? It's not like I told them all the details about Josh or any of the guys that came before him. This isn't so different, right? It's none of their business anyway.

But then Cosima rustled beneath the sheets, muttering something in her sleep, and I could not stop myself from sitting on the edge of the bed next to her. I reached my hand out to touch her, rubbing her forearm with my thumb, and even that small gesture of affection was enough to warm up my insides and send the corners of my mouth up into a smile. That's when I knew I was kidding myself.

When they see us together, I thought, they will know right away. When I look at her, it will be written all over my face. Should I never look at her? Out of fear that someone would see my love?

I touched Cosima's cheek, then her ear. She turned her face at that, just like I knew she would, and nuzzled her cheek into my palm.

"What are you doing?" she asked through a yawn.

"Just thinking," I said.

She reached up, covering my hand with both of hers.

"About your parents?" she said, pulling my hands down to the pillow.

"Yes," I said. "Is it that obvious?"

"Don't worry," she said, stroking my palm with her thumb. "Everything will be fine. Parents love me."

"I don't doubt that," I said. "It's not you I'm worried about. It's me."

"What do you mean?" she said, her furrowed brow seemed exaggerated without her glasses.

"I mean," I said, and I felt suddenly emotional, suddenly choked up and unable to speak. "I mean..."

Cosima sat up in bed, leaning toward me, pulling me into a hug that I didn't even know I needed. I rested my cheek on her shoulder and hot tears gathered in my eyes.

"Everything is happening so fast," I said.

"I know," she said, rubbing my back.

"What am I supposed to say? This is my friend, Cosima?" I said. "Somehow it doesn't feel right. It feels like a lie. I mean, it is a lie, actually. A very big lie. And I'm a terrible liar. But then, what is the alternative? I'm supposed to come out? Come out as what? Gay? Bisexual? These are things I haven't prepared. These are things that I don't even know myself! Of course, I knew that eventually I would have to have this conversation, but I didn't expect it to be tomorrow! On Christmas Eve! What am I supposed to do?"

"Whoa, whoa," Cosima said. "First of all, try to calm down. No one is saying you have to come out tomorrow. In fact, that might be the worst thing you can do, right? Why don't we just try to have a calm, peaceful dinner. It can't last more than a few hours, right? You can survive a few hours, right?"

"I guess so," I said. "But you don't know my mother, Cosima. She's very intuitive. I can't hide anything from her. If she sees me smile at you, even just once, she will know something is going on. Right away."

"Well, then," Cosima said, "try your best not to smile at me. Like, don't even look at me."

"It's impossible," I said, looking down at her delicate fingers. "I love looking at you."

"Then I won't look at you. I'll pretend like you did something to piss me off. It's better for her to think we are fighting than sleeping together, right?"

"I'm not so sure," I said. "If you are too passionate, that might be a giveaway, too."

"Okay," Cosima said. "So, I'm going for... kind of snobby and indifferent. Does that sound right?"

I laughed. "Sure, that sounds right, if you can really manage it."

"Excuse me," she said, "but don't forget, I was once in the performing arts once. I'm a very convincing actress. You on the other hand..."

"What about me?" I said.

"You will definitely have to practice your poker face," she said. "Because even in the dark I can feel the way you are looking at me."

"And how am I looking at you?" I said.

"You look like you can't wait to lay on your back and pull your knees up to your ears," she said, her fingers shooting out to tickle my ribs.

"Oh, fuck off!" I shouted back.

But it was too late. She had already pulled me down on top of her, me squealing and squirming as we fell. Then she rolled me on to my back, and the room was spinning.

"Oh god," I said, but I was still laughing. "Oh god. I'm too drunk for that."

"Too drunk?" she said, pulling up the front of my shirt. "Are you too drunk for this?"

"No," I said, my voice suddenly a whimper.

She put her thigh between mine and pushed against me. My hips pushed back, easily matching her rhythm. Then her hair fell down around my face and she was kissing me and rocking against me at the same time. The ceiling was still spinning overhead, but I didn't care, because I had Cosima to hold on to. And I did hold her, so tightly. I ran my hands up the back of her shirt and squeezed her so close to my chest. She kissed my face, my neck, and when she got to my ear, I bucked hard against her.

"Don't worry..." she whispered. "As far as your parents will know..."

Then her tongue flicked against my ear, and the heat of it shot straight to my clit.

"...I'm just your nice..."

Another flick of her tongue. Another buck of my hips.

"...American..."

A long stroke of her tongue against my ear, and I heard all of those lovely, sticky mouth sounds. My legs were shaking beneath the weight of her, but I squeezed my thighs around her anyway.

"...friend," she said finally.

And then she bit me. I gasped, my fingernails digging into her back, my hips rising up. And after I gasped, she pushed herself up onto her elbows, looking down at me and laughing, her thigh still grinding against me.

"You're definitely going to have to work on your poker face," she said, sliding her hand down my stomach.

I bit my lip, and pushed her hand further down.

I want this! I screamed in my own head. I want this...ALL...THE...FUCKING...TIME!


	16. Chapter 16

I woke to a tap-tap-tapping on the bottom of my foot. It was the love tap of Cosima's fingertip; I knew it even as I was half asleep. I curled into a ball, retreating into the warmth of the bed and pulling my bare feet up under the blankets and out of her reach. But she didn't relent so easily.

A moment later, her hand was sliding up my calf as she giggled behind me.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said. "And how are you feeling?"

Like death, I thought.

"Uuuuuughhh," was all I managed to say, groaning into my pillow.

"I have coffee if you want it," she said.

I groaned again.

"And a croissant," she said.

At that, I raised my head.

"A croissant?" I said. "I don't have any croissants."

"Laurent bought them," she said.

"For someone who claims to not have any money," I said, "he sure seems to be spending a lot of money."

"Either way," she said. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes," I said, rolling over with a yawn and a stretch.

I splayed out on the bed, stretching almost across the entire length of it. The room was way too bright. I covered my eyes with the back of my hand. My head pounded like a 404 drum; like an entire disco was staying alive within my skull. I felt nauseous.

"Ugh!" I moaned again. "What time is it?"

"Almost ten," she said.

"Ten," I said, repeating her words as if they mattered.

Actually, I didn't care what time it was, because any time would have been too early. Any time that wasn't ten hours from the present time was not a good time; this, according to my throbbing head, my dizzy stomach and my weak limbs.

"I think I'm dying," I said.

"Well," she said, touching my forehead, "unfortunately there's not much I can do for you. Most likely, you have to rehydrate. Also, I know it sounds totally disgusting, but milk is a pretty good hang over cure. Lots of carbs and proteins and fats."

"Ugh," I said again. "I can't stomach milk right now."

"I told you it was disgusting," she said. "Let's start with the croissant."

She took me by the hands and pulled up until I was sitting, slouched forward, one eye open, the other stubbornly closed tight. She put a plate in my lap. The porcelain was cool against my finger tips, and the buttery scent of the croissant wafted up into my nose. My stomach growled, but I think it was in a good way.

I picked the croissant up and took a bite, the flaky outer layer crumbling in the most delicious way, falling away from my mouth and all over the blankets.

"Mmmmm," I moaned, shoving the rest of it in my mouth in as few bites as possible.

Cosima sat on the edge of the bed and watched me with pursed lips. My old t-shirt hung loosely from her bones, the collar falling from one shoulder.

"Are there more of these?" I asked, popping the last crunching bit into my mouth.

"Yes," she said, licking her lips, and laughing into the top of her bare shoulder. Then she looked up at me from beneath her eyelashes.

"What?" I said, brushing stray crumbs from face. "I'm a mess, I know."

"No," she said. "Not at all."

"Then what?" I said.

"I just never thought this would be such a turn on," she said. "I mean, I was never into the whole food thing, but watching you eat that croissant, I think I could get into it."

Suddenly, both my eyes were open, and I was self aware. I looked down at my bare chest and bare stomach. The blanket barely covered my legs, and the small plate sat on my lap like a paper weight, as if holding the blanket securely in place, as if one unfortunate draft would send the blanket flying and I'd be left sitting there, completely naked.

I smacked Cosima's arm and pulled the blanket up to my armpits.

"Shut up!" I said.

"No, don't," she said, reaching for the blanket. "I like it."

I looked at her sideways for a moment, trying to figure out if she was making fun of me.

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Infinitely," she said.

"Fine," I said, letting the blanket fall. "But only if you bring me another croissant."

"Deal," she said, grabbing the plate and scampering away before I had even finished the sentence.

She was only gone a minute. When she returned, she closed the door behind her and tiptoed over to the bed, her calves flexing shadows in the morning light. She set the plate on my lap, and then moved away to the desk. I watched her go, unable to take my eyes off of her, because something was different. She looked different. She stood at the desk, her back to me, her head forward as she poured a glass of water. I could not help but stare at her legs, which were lean and pale. I followed the line of her thigh, knee and calf as they swooped down to her heel. She stood, flat-footed on the wooden floor. Her toenails were painted purple.

I realized then, that I had never really seen her legs before. I mean, of course, I had seen her legs before, but not like this. Usually, she wore stockings and skirts; clothing that bound her body like armor, and gave the impression of controlled sensuality. But that morning, in those running shorts and t-shirt, her body was completely unbound. There were no intricate patterned nylons, no high-heels, no form-fitting clothes. Her body was free and vulnerable, and, well, lovely. It was a completely different kind of sensual.

"Since when do you own running shorts?" I asked.

"Since always," she said, turning around. "Why? I don't seem like the running type?"

"Only if you're running late," I said.

"Very clever, Mr. Cormier," she said, handing me the glass of water. "Very clever."

I smiled at her over the top of the glass, feeling proud of myself.

There was a knock at the bedroom door.

Simultaneously, I shoved the water glass toward Cosima and pulled the blanket up with my other arm.

"Yes?" I called out.

"Delphine," Laurent said, talking through the door.

"Yes?" I said again.

"How are you feeling?" he said.

Like death, I thought again.

"I'll survive," I said.

"Listen," he said, hesitating for a moment. "I'm really sorry about this whole Christmas Eve thing. I really want to make it up to you. Why don't you guys spend the day together? I will take care of all the preparations for tonight."

"Laurent," I said, rubbing my forehead with my palm. "You don't have to do that."

"No, really," he said. "Why don't you guys go out today and let me take care of everything."

"Uhhh," I said, trying to think about what he was saying, my mind unable to make any decisions at the moment.

Cosima squeezed my hand and smiled. She nodded her head up an down eagerly. I tilted my head to the side, and whispered to her.

"I can't let him do everything by himself," I said softly.

"Yes, you can!" she whispered back.

"Hello?" Laurent said from behind the door.

"Uh, yes, okay," I said.

"Yes, you're going out, or yes you forgive me?" he called to me in French.

"Both," I said back with a sigh.

"Okay," he said, and I swear I could hear his smile through the door. Then his footsteps drifted away from the door.

But a moment later, he was back. Another knock on the door.

"Alright," he called. "I'm heading out to pick up some things. Enjoy your day!"

"Okay," I said. "See you later."

"Okay, goodbye then," he said, but I heard him hesitating. "And good bye, Cosima."

"Good bye, Laurent," she called.

We both listened, but he clearly was still standing outside my door. Then he spoke up.

"You guys should go to Tocadero Gardens this evening. The Christmas market will be lovely."

"Yes, thank you, Laurent," I said.

"Don't worry about being late for dinner," he said. "I will stall for you."

"Okay, thank you," I said.

And still, he didn't move away from the door.

"Laurent?" I said, picking up my pillow.

"Yes?" he said.

"Go away!" I said, launching the pillow at the door. There was a dull thud.

"Yes, yes," he said. "Goodbye! And Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" Cosima called back with a big smile.

Then we heard the front door open and close and we were alone. We glanced at each other, me rolling my eyes, and her raising her eyebrows, and then we both laughed.

"You have to milk this guilt," she said.

"I should," I said. "For as long as I can."

I set the empty plate aside and fell back onto the bed. Cosima made her way towards me, crawling on her elbows until she arrived at my shoulder. She laid her head down on my chest and I wrapped her in a warm embrace.

"I do feel bad, though," I said. "I should help him."

"And he's trying to help you," she said, her hand roaming aimlessly over my ribs. "Just think of it as his Christmas gift to you."

I kissed the top of her head, her dreads coarse against my lips and nose.

"Then where should we go?" I said.

"I'll go anywhere," she said. "The Christmas Market does sound nice. But you know what else sounds nice?"

"What?" I said.

"A nice hot shower," she said.

"Yes, that does sound nice," I said. "God, I could use a shower right now."

"No, no," she said, lifting her head so that she could look me in the eyes. Then she repeated herself, every word deliberate. "A nice hot shower."

A red hot bolt of electricity shot from my belly button to my throat. I swallowed hard. Then I pulled her body against mine and squeezed her in a bear hug.

"We're not going out today, are we?" I said with a laugh.

"Maybe," she said, kissing my mouth. "Maybe not."

"But we should at least go out later," I said between her kisses, which she peppered over my face and neck.

"Laurent is right. It will be lovely."

"Uh-huh," she said, rolling herself on top of me.

"I refuse to have you to come all the way to Paris and only stay in this room and not see anything else!" I said.

"Oh come on," Cosima said, entwining her fingers with mine, raising my hands over my head and pinning them against the pillow. "Would that really be so terrible?"

But before I could answer her mouth was on mine again.

Maybe, I thought. And, maybe not.


	17. Chapter 17

I watched Cosima as she stood from the bed, as she lifted the t-shirt over her head and she let it drop to the floor, I knew that I would rise, too. I knew that I would walk into that bathroom. I would step into the hot flow of water and let the water scold my back. And, I knew I would linger there.

"Are you coming?" Cosima said from the bathroom door, wearing nothing.

"Yes," I said, moving toward her in a fog.

Then she stepped into the bathroom and I heard the water faucet spring on.

As I stepped into the bathroom, I saw her silhouette through the frosty glass of the shower door. Her arms were tucked close to her body. Her hands were cupped in front of her chest, and her shoulders were hunched forward as the water sprayed down over her.

She was so lovely.

I felt suddenly shy in the harsh artificial light of the small room. I caught my reflection again in the mirror. I caught sight of the dark circles under my eyes, my frizzy hair, my small breasts, my pale, dry skin. I suddenly felt the urge to hide.

I flicked off the light, and the room became dim but not completely dark; the only light filtering in from a single tiny window that faced a gritty red brick wall.

"Whoa," Cosima said.

"Sorry," I said. "Is it too dark?"

"No," she said. "It's very atmospheric. I like it. Now, get in here."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

But even as I opened the door and stepped into the shower, I couldn't shake the shy feeling.

In fact, as I stepped into the stream of water, I couldn't stop shaking, period. Instinctively, I hugged myself, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

The space, which had seemed big enough when I was alone, now seemed quite small, and Cosima seemed small in it. I felt as though I was towering over her; the top of her head rising barely past my chin.

I looked down at my feet, shuffling awkwardly around her so that I wasn't completely blocking the flow of water. Her hair, which she had put up on top of her head, bumped against my cheek.

"Sorry," she said, grabbing my forearm and laughing.

"It's okay," I said.

She looked up at me then. Her chest and stomach were already bright red. I stared at the tiny drops of water that collected and fell, collected and fell, all over her skin. I watched them with curiosity as they ran like rivulets down her body. When I finally looked into her eyes, I saw a similar curiosity there.

She smiled and leaned forward, grabbing me by my forearms, pulling them away from my body, slipping into the empty space, and then, kissing me with wet, hot lips. Naturally, I wrapped my arms around her and as she kissed me, I felt the urge to squeeze her, to lift her up off her feet, to twirl her around. But I didn't, because it was a shower, and I'm not even that surefooted on regular ground.

I did squeeze her though. I squeezed her and lifted her up until her head was on my shoulder.

"I love you," I said softly.

"I love you, too," she said, just as soft.

And then I let her down, and she reached for a bottle that I had never seen before.

"What's this?" I said.

"It's my shampoo," she said. "I want you to smell like me today."

"That's so territorial," I said.

And kind of hot, I thought.

"Exactly," she said, squeezing the shampoo into her palm. "You're mine."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"Turn around," she said, and I did what she said.

"Shit," she said.

"What?" I said.

"You're so tall," she said.

Immediately, I knelt down, as awkward as a bowing elephant.

"That doesn't look comfy," Cosima said, laughing.

"It's okay," I said, laughing harder. "Just go quickly."

And suddenly my shyness was gone; evaporated; caught up with the steam and laughter that were leaving beads of condensation on the tiny window.

Her fingers moved quickly over my head; a pleasant sensation if it wasn't for my cramping hamstrings.

"Just one more minute!" she said. "Okay, rinse!"

I stood up and turned around, my back toward the shower head and my face toward Cosima. She watched me as I raised my hands over my head, tilted my head back and closed my eyes. I couldn't remember the last time someone had watched me take a shower. I had forgotten how many silly faces one makes when rinsing one's hair. I felt Cosima's eyes on me and I was glad that the water had already made my skin pink. Otherwise, she would have seen me blush.

Before I had a chance to open my eyes, I felt her hand on my chest and then her mouth. She left one kiss on my collarbone and then stepped away.

Then, a familiar scent rose up from the space between our bodies; it was the scent of the first time we met; the scent of dancing close at the aquarium; the scent of the rose-patterned stockings that she let me take from the hotel room. As far as I was concerned it was the scent of all of San Francisco.

She held a different bottle in her hand then. She squeezed the liquid out onto a loofa, rubbing the loofa between her hands until she worked up a foamy lather. Then, not looking at my face, but looking at my body, she ran the loofa over my chest, and the scent of baby powder engulfed me.

If the steam had evaporated my shyness, then it was also heating up my desire.

She ran the soapy loofa over my chest and stomach first, then under my armpits, then down each arm - even down each finger - before asking me to turn around, and repeating the process on my back. She ran the loofa over my bottom, even reaching down to the most intimate parts, which startled me and aroused me at the same time, but then she quickly moved on down my legs.

She kneeled down to clean every inch of me, and the sensation was strange. I can't remember anyone ever paying that much focused attention to my body; even lifting each foot up and scrubbing the bottom of it until soap suds seeped through the spaces between my toes.

I felt naked; naked, raw and loved.

She stood up, her face still focused on her task, still not looking into my eyes. I couldn't take it. I grabbed her face with my hands and pulled her toward me. Her body pressed against mine, and the soap between us gave me a thrill as I kissed her mouth. I couldn't stop my own body from squirming against hers, feeling her breasts and stomach slip past mine.

She moaned into my mouth before pulling away.

"Don't get distracted," she said, looking up at me. "I'm determined to get you out of the house today. Otherwise, you'll regret it forever."

She pushed the loofa toward me.

"My turn," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, taking it from her hands.

She turned away from me, until I was facing her back.

To be honest, I had never done this before. I had had shower sex before, but having sex and bathing someone are two completely different things. As I brought the loofa to Cosima's back; as I rubbed it gently between her shoulder blades and down the dent of her spine; down, down, down until I had reached her bottom and lingered there; I realized that sex and intimacy weren't exactly codependents.

I leaned forward, reaching my arms around Cosima from behind, until my mouth was on her shoulder, and I was looking down over her chest. I embraced her and ran the loofa over her breasts and down her stomach. She leaned back into me, reaching back, grabbing my ass with both hands.

"Je t'aime," I said again.

Cosima said nothing, but turned her face away so that I could kiss her neck.

"Je t'adore," I said, setting the loofa aside.

"Uh-huh?" she said.

I let my hands roam all over her slippery body. Inevitably they came back to her breasts, and I couldn't stop myself from squeezing them in the palms of my hands.

"Je te désire," I said.

She reached a hand up behind her head, grabbing me by my neck. She pulled me closer toward her, and I pulled her closer toward me.

"I'm not one hundred percent entirely sure what you just said," she said. "But, me, too."

I let my hand move down to the damp hair between her legs. I found her clit quickly. It was swollen beneath my fingers. I reached further down. All of her was swollen and wet.

So, her cool girl act before was really just an act, I thought. What a liar!

She moaned.

That was all the invitation I needed. She was so aroused already, it would be easy to make her come.

I rubbed small circles around her clit with one hand, and with my other arm, I held her against me, kissing her shoulder and neck and ear.

She moaned and turned her face further away from me.

I felt her hips move back against me, and she leaned forward, extending her arm out, bracing herself against the wall.

I knew she was close, but I didn't expect the way her thighs shook, the way her whole body shook in my embrace.

Her moans grew louder, and she rocked her hips back against me in a slow, steady pattern. But her body, it kept shaking and shaking, until finally I heard an unexpected sound.

With her face away from me, she was crying.

I stopped moving.

"Cosima?" I said. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she said, her face still away from me. "Yes."

"Do you want to stop?" I said.

"No," she said, crying harder now, her shoulders lurching every few breaths.

"Are you sure?" I said.

"Yes," she said, grabbing my hand and moving it back to her clit. "Please."

I began the circular motion again, and she kept her hand over mine, pushing down against it in a steady, aggressive rhythm. Soon, both of us - both of our bodies, and both of our hearts - were moving in the same aggressive rhythm. It only lasted a few moments - a few intense, furious moments - and then she cried out, and leaned her whole body forward.

And a moment later, she had turned around and fallen into my arms, crying against my chest.

"I love you, l love you, I love you," she kept repeating, the words falling over my skin in rivulets.

I reached for the shower valve, shutting off the water, and she didn't let me go.

"I know," I said. "I know."

I held her for a long time, like that. But then I worried she would get cold, so I opened the shower door and reached for a towel, never letting her go completely.

I draped the towel over her shoulders.

Finally, she looked up at me, her eyes red and swollen.

"I'll miss you," she said.

"Me, too," I said and I kissed her mouth, tasting the salt of her tears.

Or, are they my tears? I thought. It doesn't matter.

"What do you think?" I said, wiping her cheeks with my thumbs. "Should we go do something romantic today?"

"Why not?" she said with a weak smile. "We're in Paris after all."


	18. Chapter 18

We arrived at La Place de la Trocadero late in the afternoon. The square was filled with rows and rows of little wooden stalls, all decorated with tiny electric lights. Some were filled with handcrafts, others were filled with gingerbread, and still others were filled with sausages on crusty rolls. The sights and smells were intense, and as we approached, Cosima squeezed my hand and squealed.

In the distance, the Eiffel Tower was already a dark shadow against the rose colored sunset.

"It's so lovely!" she sighed next to me.

The market was packed with people. There were young people and old people. There were families and pets, too. Everyone milled around us, rubbing elbows in the peaceful flow of traffic. People smiled and laughed and ooh-ed and aw-ed over the different snacks and wares that were available on all sides, and Cosima and I ooh-ed and aw-ed with them.

"What would you like to try first?" I asked Cosima, leaning close to her ear.

"I don't know!" she said, looking all around. "It's so overwhelming!"

"How about a bit of mulled wine?" I said.

"Are you sure you can handle more wine?" she asked.

"Well," I said, "the best cure for a hangover is to keep drinking."

"Sure," Cosima said.

We stepped up to a hut which was decorated with lovely paper lanterns in all different colors, and the man behind the counter had rosy cheeks to match his red apron. The smells of citrus and cinnamon tickled our noses as we waited for our wine to heat up. He ladled the liquid into two paper cups for us.

"Merci," Cosima said.

"Ah!" he said to her. "You're a beautiful woman! Merry Christmas!"

She looked at me and smiled, clearly having no idea what he just said.

"He said you are beautiful," I said.

"Oh," she said. Then she looked at him and raised her glass. "You're beautiful, too!"

We moved on, cupping the wine in our palms, except for those times when Cosima's fingers would drift over certain items as we walked past. She liked to touch fabrics, soft silk scarves and scratchy wool sweaters. I noticed the things she touched, the things that made her eyes light up. But there was one thing that made her stop. It was a red scarf, so delicate and thin and covered in roses; it was quintessential Cosima. She ran the material between her fingertips and smiled.

"Do you like it?" I said.

"Yes, very much," she said. "But it must be expensive. I can tell."

I looked at the shop keeper. "How much is it?" I asked.

When she said the price, I tried to act casual, unimpressed, but really, Cosima was right.

"Well?" Cosima said.

"It's not bad," I said. "Let me buy it for you."

"No way!" she said.

"Why not?" I said.

"Because I already cost you a plane ticket. I can't ask you to spend more on me."

"It was my choice," I said. "I wanted to then. And I want to now."

She bit her lip and furrowed her brows. I could tell she was deliberating and it was painful for her.

"Let me buy it for you," I said again, reaching for her elbow.

She winced and looked away, then shrugged her shoulders.

I turned to the shop keeper.

"I'll take it," I said. Then I added, "Do you take credit cards?"

"Of course," she said.

In a moment, the scarf was around Cosima's neck. I put it there with my own hands, and she looked up at me with twinkling eyes.

"I hate you!" she said. "I mean, I love you! But I hate you!"

"Fine," I said. "Hate me all you like."

She wrapped the scarf around her neck again, and puffed it up under her chin, so that it emphasized the delicate line her neck and jaw. Then she posed for me.

"Am I...uh…" she said, pausing to think, her irises rolled up and to the side. "Am I une belle femme?"

I laughed as she repeated the wine merchant's phrase.

"Oui!" I said. "Une très belle femme. Très jolie et très belle."

"Merci," she said with a little bounce, and she turned on her heel.

We moved along, stopping for a freshly baked gingerbread cookie, which we shared, and then one of those sausages which we had smelled when we first came out of the metro station. We came upon the ice rink, and leaned against the wall of it, passing the sausage back and forth between us, until I let Cosima have the last bite, after which, she had a huge glob of mustard on her cheek.

I wiped it away with my thumb, and then brought my thumb to my mouth. She smiled at me and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"It's okay," I said. "I got it."

She turned her face toward the Eiffel Tower, which was lit up with thousands of lights. The sky was dark, inky blue again, and I couldn't believe this was our last night together, and that we would have to spend it with my family.

She sighed and looked down at her own hands.

"What?" I said. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said. "I'm just so happy. I'm kind of not that used to it, you know?"

"Yeah," I said, taking her face in my hands. "Me, too."

Looking down at her face, at the soft ridge of her brow, and the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes when she smiled, and the fat that bunched up in her cheeks and pushed up on her glasses, my heart ached at how happy I was.

"I wish I could stay here forever," she said. "Or, like anywhere, with you. It doesn't have to be here. I don't care. It could be anywhere."

Then she was quiet. She put her hands over mine and sighed again.

"It's hard..." she said, and then she stalled.

"I know," I said.

"It's hard being so far away."

"I know," I said.

"I almost can't bear it sometimes," she said, still looking down. "It's like I almost can't breathe."

"I know," I said. "But what can we do?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head gently. "It's just so indefinite. The only reason I could survive the last three months is because I knew I would see you. There was a finite amount of time to bear, and I knew I would see you. But now? Now I don't know when we can see each other again, and it's..."

"Scary," I said.

"Terrifying," she said.

"We'll figure something out," I said, and I pulled her into a hug.

I pulled her into a hug because I didn't know what else to do. There was nothing I could say to make her feel better. She leaned her head on my shoulder.

"Let's just enjoy this moment," I whispered.

At that she pulled me closer to her and gently rocked me from side to side.

I once read that our deepest memories are those related to the olfactory nerve, because of its strong ties to the amygdala and the hippocampus, so I took a deep breath. I wanted to hold on to this memory. I wanted it deep in my psyche. I wanted to remember it even in my old age, when all my other recollections melted away into incoherency; I wanted this moment to stay.

I took a deep breath, and the moment smelled like mulled wine, cinnamon and cedar. It smelled like artificial ice and mustard and freshly baked gingerbread. It smelled like coconut and baby powder. It smelled like Cosima.

I leaned back and touched Cosima's chin with my finger, tilting her head back, and leaning forward to kiss her mouth.

"I love you," I said between kisses.

She pulled at the waist of my coat and smiled. Then her hands were in my hair and she was laughing.

Just then, my phone started vibrating in my bag.

"Go ahead," she said. "Answer it."

"It's probably just Laurent," I said. "I don't want to talk to him right now."

But the phone kept ringing, long past the time it would have taken Laurent to give up. Cosima looked at my bag and bit her bottom lip.

"Well? Answer it!" she said. "The suspense is killing me!"

"Fine, fine," I said, reaching into my bag. "I just don't want anyone to ruin this moment. You know Laurent has a talent for these things."

But as I pulled out my phone and saw the unknown number on the caller ID, my mind jumped into gear, and I suddenly knew who it was. I accepted the call as fast as I could slide my thumb.

"Professor? Hello?" I said.

Cosima must have noticed the anxiety in my face. She took a step away from me.

"Yes, Ms. Cormier?" came the raggedy old voice on the other end of the line. There was a lot of noise coming through on his end and it was difficult to hear him.

"Yes," I said. "I'm here."

"Oh, good evening," he said. "And Merry Christmas."

"Yes," I said, covering my phone with my hand, and talking down toward my chest.

Cosima took another step away from me. She touched my arm to get my attention. I looked up to see her pointing back toward the rows of wooden stalls with her thumb.

"How are you feeling, Ms. Cormier?" said the professor.

"I'm feeling a little better, yes," I said. "Thank you."

Cosima started to walk backwards, mouthing, "I'm gonna go look around."

I nodded my head at her, and watched her go.

"So, Ms. Cormier," the professor said. "I'm sorry to say that I have some bad news."

"Oh, really?" I said.

"Yes," he continued. "It seems that our team is completely swamped right now, and we have no one to spare; no one to return to Nairobi to escort you to the project base. And I simply could not ask you to travel here yourself."

"Yes," I said. "I see."

"Therefore, and I hate to say this, but it seems it will be impossible to rendezvous with you, should you take a flight to Nairobi."

"I see," I said again.

"I'm very sorry at the way things turned out," he said. "I was rather looking forward to working with you on this."

"Yes, no...me, too," I said. "But that's fine. I understand."

"I hope you aren't too terribly disappointed," he said. "If it were up to me, I would drive to Nairobi myself to get you, but I'm needed here. You understand how these things go."

"Yes, of course," I said. "I understand completely."

"Alright, then," he said. "This is a very expensive call, so I will end it here."

"Yes, of course," I said. "Thank you for informing me."

"It's my pleasure," he said. "I will see you in a few weeks then."

"Yes," I said. "I will see you when you return to Paris. Safe travels."

"Oh, and Ms. Cormier," he said. "Have a wonderful Christmas Eve."

"Yes," I said. "You too, Professor. You too."

Then, after a loud clang in the receiver, he was gone, but I held the phone to my ear for a moment and listened to the dead air. I listened to the emptiness, to the absence of his voice, and to the presence of my own regret, my own lost opportunity.

"Merde!" I whispered to myself and finally put my phone away.

It's better this way, I tried to tell myself. I didn't really want to leave anyway.

But my pride and ambition couldn't be tamed so easily. My heart was pounding and I felt angry. I was angry at myself for being so irresponsible and angry at Laurent for convincing me to make such an immature decision. And then my anger tried to turn toward Cosima, and suddenly I laughed out loud.

How can I be mad at Cosima? I thought. I must be losing my mind!

Still, I kicked the ground repeatedly with the toe of my shoe.

I hate! To lose! An opportunity!

I stood up straight and looked around, but Cosima was nowhere to be found.

I need to cool down before I see her, I thought.

God! I need a cigarette!

I pulled out my pack and lit up with shaky hands. I inhaled and exhaled, not stopping much to breathe real air. I didn't sit or lean against the ice rink wall. No, I paced. I paced and paced. All the while, scanning the park, scanning for a red coat and dreads. I was flustered and dizzy. I didn't want her to see me like that.

How could I be so stupid?! I thought.

But simultaneously, I need to calm the hell down!

As I scanned the plaza, I did see someone I recognized, but it wasn't Cosima. It was the little, old American woman with the salt and pepper hair, the one I had met at Notre Dame a few days earlier. And sure enough, trailing not too far behind her was her frail partner. They made their way slowly toward the market.

"Lucy!" I shouted, waving my hand in the air. "Lucy! Doris!"

They looked up just as I stamped out the cigarette beneath the toe of my shoe. Doris looked a little confused, but Lucy smiled right away and raised her hand to wave.

I hurried over to where they were.

And just like that, my frustration was forgotten, and a smile stretched wide across my face.

"Oh, what a lovely surprise!" Lucy said, patting Doris' hand. "What a lovely surprise!"

"Yes," I said. "I'm so happy to meet you again. You've returned to the Eiffel Tower, I see. Did you make it to the top?"

"Yes," Lucy said.

"All the way to the top!" Doris said, her index finger pointing up.

"Doris wanted to pick up some souvenirs," Lucy said. "She's a sucker for handmade goods."

"We have to support independent craftsmen!" Doris declared.

"I couldn't agree more," I said.

"Aren't you going to thank her?" Doris said, directing her words toward Lucy.

"Oh, yes, I was just about to," Lucy said. "Thank you for the taxi the other day. It was so kind of you."

"It was nothing," I said. "Did you arrive safely?"

"Yes, of course," Lucy said. "And now we can't stay away!"

"Such a lovely girl!" Doris chimed in.

"But what about you?" Lucy said. "Are you alone? On Christmas Eve?"

"Oh, no," I said. "I'm not alone. Actually, I'm with my…Cosima."

"Cosima?" Doris said. "That's a lovely name."

"Yes," I said. "I'm just waiting for her. She should be back any moment."

"Is that her?" Doris said, pointing a shaky finger toward the rows of stalls. "Is that your Cosima?"

I turned to see her, carrying a red shopping bag in her hand, her new scarf draped over the front of her coat and swishing this way and that with every step.

"Yes," I said. "That is my Cosima."

"She's lovely," Doris said as she nudged me with her elbow. "You're a lucky girl."

"Oh, Doris!" Lucy said.

"Yes, she is," I said. "I know."

Cosima smiled her biggest smile as she approached, her head cocked to the side in curiosity.

"Cosima," I said. "This is Lucy and this is Doris. They are visiting Paris for their thirtieth anniversary."

"Wow!" Cosima said. "Dude! That's so impressive."

"Ah-ha!" Lucy said, "Another American?"

"Yes," Cosima said. "I'm from the Bay Area."

"No kidding?" Lucy said. "San Francisco?"

"Yeah," Cosima said, "Are you familiar?"

"Tell her, Lucy, tell her," Doris interjected.

"I was just about to, Doris. Hold your horses," Lucy said.

"Tell me what?" Cosima said.

"We spent twenty five of our thirty years in San Francisco," Lucy said.

"Such a lovely city!" Doris said.

Cosima and I shared a surprised smile.

"I thought you said you were from Iowa?" I said.

"We're in Iowa now," she said. "To be close to Doris' family. But we loved San Francisco. Lots of good memories there. Lots of good memories."

"I'm sorry," Doris said, patting Lucy's hand.

"Whatever are you sorry for?" Lucy said.

"I'm sorry I dragged you away from your beloved city," Doris said.

"Oh, no, no!" Lucy said, smiling with her gray eyes. "I'll go where ever you go. You're my beloved, not the city."

Doris laughed, shrugged her shoulders and winked at me.

"She's such a romantic," she said.

I felt Cosima's hand slip into mine, and our fingers intertwined automatically. I looked at her and smiled.

I want this! I thought. I want what they have!

Cosima returned my gaze, and I knew that she was feeling the same.

You are my beloved! I wanted to say. I'll go where ever you go!

Then my phone started ringing again, and I felt my stomach drop, thinking it might be the professor calling to say he had misunderstood somehow, that there was still a way for us to meet in Nairobi, that everything would work out after all.

"Excuse me," I said, digging into my purse.

But when I pulled the phone out, I saw that it was Laurent. Reluctantly, I answered the call.

"It's getting hard to keep them at bay," he said. "When do you think you will be home?"

My head was spinning at his question. I looked up at Cosima who was laughing and charming the little American couple. She looked so beautiful and comfortable, the radiant glow of lanterns on her face and the red shopping bag to match her coat.

"Soon," I said. "We'll come soon."

And I hung up on him abruptly, because I couldn't stand hearing my parents' voices in the background, couldn't stand the idea of them sitting in my apartment, my father waiting to meet my American friend, my mother waiting to touch my forehead with the back of her hand to make sure that my fever was gone. I couldn't bear the thought of having to tell them that I had lost the Kenya opportunity completely.

"Do you have to go?" Lucy asked.

"Yes, I think so," I said. "My family is waiting. We're going to have Christmas dinner together."

"Oh!" Doris said. "That's lovely!"

I'm not sure why, but I felt inclined to hug them, and so I did. Cosima joined in, not at all shy about hugging complete strangers.

"Ask them! Ask them!" Doris said.

"Oh," Lucy said. "Do you have facebook?"

"Facebook?" I asked. "Yes, I do."

"Oh, good," she said. "Write it for me, will you? Our son's still in San Francisco. You should be facebook friends."

"Sure, why not?" Cosima said.

She wrote our names on the back of a map, and handed it over to Lucy. Lucy handed it to Doris, who folded it up and tucked it securely into her purse. Then she patted the side of her purse for safekeeping.

And with a kiss on each cheek, we left them.

Cosima tucked her hand into the crook of my elbow and we walked arm and arm, though not leisurely, toward Ave de la Bourdonnais.

"They were cute," she said, laughing. "Facebook!"

"What's in the bag?" I asked.

"Presents, of course," she said.

"For who?" I said.

"For your family," she said, sounding a little incredulous.

I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Merde!" I shouted. "I haven't gotten anything for my family. How awful!"

"Don't be ridiculous," Cosima said, pulling me along. "I'm sure your presence is present enough."

"Do you think so?" I said.

"Yes," she said. "If you want, you can steal my gifts and say they are yours."

"No, I could never do that," I said.

"Do you want to go back to the market?" she asked.

I looked behind us, toward the bright glowing stalls of the market which were already over a hundred meters away. And then I looked in front of us, to the taxi stand, where there was already a long queue.

"No," I said. "We're late as it is. They'll just have to forgive me."

We continued down the street, now walking even faster. Cosima clenched at my elbow suddenly, and nearly skipped along side me.

"Are you skipping?" I asked.

"Maybe," she said. "I'm excited!"

"For what?" I said.

"To meet your parents!" she said. "I'm so curious. I want to see where you came from."

"Oh, god," I said as we arrived at the taxi stand. "Maybe I should have had another drink."

"It will be fine," she said, rubbing my arms with her hands. "You have nothing to worry about. I promise not to make out with you or play footsie under the table. I won't even look at you. I'll be on my best behavior."

"You don't have to do that," I said, touching her face. "Just be yourself. I'm sure they'll love you. Who couldn't love you? It's better to meet them now rather than later, right? At least, they will have a face to think of, and actual person to remember, when I finally explain to them what's really going on."

"What do you mean, really going on?" she said.

"I can't go to Kenya," I said. "It's all been cancelled."

"Oh, shit," she said. "Are you okay?"

"No," I said. "Not really, but you know what I realized?"

"What?"

"I'm not half as upset about that, as I am about the fact that we have less than twenty-four hours left together, and that we don't know when we will see each other again."

She looked away.

"I thought we already had this conversation," she said with a shrug of her shoulder, but I could tell her heart was heavy, and her feelings could not be so easily shrugged. "I thought we agreed that there's nothing we can do about it right now."

"Maybe there is something I can do," I said. "With my parents blessing."

"Like what?" she said.

"What if I follow you to San Francisco?" I said. "I mean, once I finish my thesis, what difference does it make what city I'm in?"

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" she said, her expression suddenly blank.

"I mean, I just don't want to waste time, you know?" I said. "Look at Doris and Lucy! They have had thirty years together! Thirty years isn't so many, not really, and I don't want to waste any of them living so far away from you."

"Shut up, Delphine," she said, more seriously than I had anticipated.

"What?" I said.

"If you aren't serious, if you don't really mean it, then just shut up," she said. "Because I'll believe you and I'm really terrible with disappointment."

The taxi line inched forward, and now we were second in line.

"I'm serious," I said. "I'm very serious."

Cosima was quiet, her mouth shut tight, her jaw clenched. I could feel her thoughts; they bounced and ricocheted behind her irises, and sent sparks of worry across her brow.

"Cosima," I said, stroking her cheek with my thumb. "I'm serious. I want it. I want you and me in your tiny apartment, and every day will be like Christmas, and our snowballs will never melt, because we won't let them."

The taxi in front of us pulled away and the next one pulled up.

"Let's go," she said, opening the door and climbing in. "We're late."

Kind of always late, I wanted to say.

But judging by the way she sat at the far end of the seat, leaning against the door and gazing out the window pensively, she didn't seem like she was in a joking mood.

I reached for her hand, and luckily, she didn't pull away, but she didn't look at me, either. I took a deep breath and wondered if I had said too much, if I should take it back. But then, perhaps taking it back would be even worse than saying it in the first place. Plus, everything I said was true, and so I couldn't really take it back anyway. Obviously, I had struck a nerve in her, and it was best to just let her come around on her own.

I leaned back in the seat and sighed.

This is going to be one very interesting dinner, I thought.


	19. Chapter 19

As we climbed the stairs to the apartment, I felt a flurry of butterflies in my stomach, and not in a good way. I walked unevenly, holding on to the railing as I went because even though my legs were moving forward, my gut was begging me to stay still, or even better, to turn around.

Cosima walked up in front of me, and I wanted so badly to reach out and grab her hand, but one hand was tucked into her coat pocket and the other was holding the red shopping bag. There were no hands left for me to hold.

We stood on the landing just in front of my door, and she looked at me expectantly, a put-on smile pulling awkwardly at the corners of her mouth.

"Cosima," I said. "Are you okay?"

"Not really," she said.

My stomach dropped.

"But," she continued, "I don't want to talk about it, so, let's just pretend I'm okay. Okay?"

I guess I selfishly wanted her to say that she was okay, even though we'd both know she was lying. But instead, she said this, the absolute truth, and it stung.

"Sure," I said, feeling dizzy and crushed, like the walls were pressing in around my ears.

How can I get through this if Cosima is upset? I thought. How can I get through this alone?

I reached for the door, and I was about to turn it, when suddenly her hand was on my arm.

"Delphine," she said.

As soon as I looked at her, she pulled her hand away and tucked it back into her coat pocket.

"Look," she said, though she wasn't looking at me. "I don't want you to feel any pressure to do something, or, I don't know, say something, that you might regret later."

"I don't feel any pressure," I said.

Lie!

"I mean, like, at dinner, you don't have to say anything about me, about us," she said. "I mean, I would just hate to see you make any more rash decisions. Like, I already messed up a really great opportunity for you, and now, you're talking like you might come out to your parents, which is like, yay! Great! But only if you're ready for it. The last thing I want is to go all Miley Cyrus on your life."

"Miley Cyrus?" I said.

"You know?" she said. "Like a wrecking ball?"

It took me a moment to get the joke, but when I did I smiled. And when she looked up at me from under her eyelashes, she was smiling, too. Just barely.

"Right," I said. "Like a wrecking ball."

Just then, the door opened. It was my mother, a huge grin on her face, and her arms stretched wide.

"Joyeux Noël!" she shouted merrily.

Before I could resist, she pulled me into a long warm hug, longer and warmer than any hug I could remember in our recent history. And then she held me at arms' length and scanned my face.

"How are you feeling? You don't look so bad," she said with her hand on my cheek.

"Yes, mother," I said. "It passed quickly."

Cosima stood by, her eyebrows raised in interest, but she had no idea what my mother was saying.

"Mother," I said. "This is my friend, Cosima. She is visiting from America."

"Ah, yes!" my mother said, switching into English. "Laurent has told us so much about you!"

"All good things?" Cosima said.

"Yes, yes," my mother said. "He can't stop talking about you."

I looked at Cosima, just in time for my mother to wink at her and lower her voice.

"I'm sensing a love connection," she said softly, with her hand over her mouth.

"Mother!" I said. "Don't jump to conclusions!"

"What?" she said. "All I've heard for the last hour is Cosima this and Cosima that."

Then she took a step toward Cosima and grabbed her by the hands.

"And I can see why!" she added.

"I don't know what to say," Cosima said, shaking my mother's hands gently in her own. "I'm flattered."

"Well," I said, a little bit more than frustrated. "Are we going to stand in the hallway all night?"

Then I strongly gestured for my mother to unhand Cosima and enter the apartment.

"Looks like someone is still tired and grumpy," my mother said to Cosima before walking through the door.

I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes like a teenager, and Cosima saw it. She touched my elbow as she passed.

"Relax," she said.

Then she stopped for a moment, right in front of me.

"At least we know she likes me," she said with a shrug of her shoulders.

Only as a possible love interest for Laurent! I wanted to shout.

But instead I smiled and followed her into the apartment, using every ounce of willpower to not slam the door behind me.

We sat down very quickly after Cosima and I arrived, most of the dishes were already set out on the table, covered in foil and oven mitts to keep them warm.

We gathered around the table, my father at the head, my mother at the foot, Cosima and I sat squished together on one side of the small table, and Laurent sat opposite of us.

There wasn't much room for decorations, but someone had placed a lovely centerpiece of fresh evergreens in the middle of the table, and there was a garland of pine strung around the frame of the window.

The main dish was roast duck, and when Laurent pulled back the foil, we all groaned at the smell. Cosima's eyebrows skyrocketed and she leaned forward and inhaled deeply.

"That's not a turkey!" she said.

"No," Laurent said. "This is roast duck, a Cormier family tradition."

Then he carved a piece off the breast and put it on Cosima's plate.

"I think I'm going to like this tradition," she said with a big smile.

I looked at her, and I felt a loosening of tension. I reached over and squeezed her knee.

Maybe things won't be so bad afterall, I thought.

"So does that mean you want to join our traditions?" my mother added. "Maybe this is just the first of many Cormier Christmases for Cosima."

My mother glanced around the table, a smirk on her face, checking to see if everyone understood her very obvious innuendo.

Nevermind, I thought, clenching my fork.

"Oh, I'm not sure," Cosima said. "I meant I will enjoy it right now. This all looks so delicious!"

My mother continued to smile to herself, as Laurent introduced the rest of the food.

"Here, we have glazed carrots with tarragon, and here, a ricotta and asparagus souflle," he said.

"And, of course," my mother said, "I brought my famous aniseed cookies!"

"Of course," Laurent added. "It wouldn't be Christmas Eve without those."

When everyone was served, there were exactly two minutes of silence, all of us savoring the lovely flavors of the meal that Laurent had prepared. But then, my father spoke the first words he had said all evening, aside from his salutation to Cosima.

"So," he started, speaking in French, and I already knew what was coming.

"So," he said. "What about your Kenya trip? When will you reschedule?"

"Oh," I said. "Actually, I just found out that it was cancelled. Well, it wasn't cancelled, but I won't be able to join them."

"That's an unfortunate waste of money," he said. "Why did you miss your flight, again?"

"I wasn't feeling well," I said, my stomach tight.

"I see," he said.

"She had the flu," my mother interjected. "She was in no condition to get on an international flight."

"Once," he said, "back when I was in the army, I had the worst case of food poisoning on our physical examination day. My commanding officer made me complete the test, even though I was getting sick all over the field."

"Dear," my mother said. "This is hardly a topic of conversation for the dinner table."

"No," he said. "There is a point."

"Then get to it," she said.

"The point is, I fainted at the end of the exam, dehydrated and covered in my breakfast, and they had to carry me away to the infirmary. But you know what?"

He looked me directly in the eye.

"What, father?" I said.

"I finished it. I passed the test and I didn't give up."

"Yes, father," I said.

"And you cost the military twice as much money by increasing your recovery time from one day to several days," my mother said. "Not to mention the poor man who most likely had to clean up your mess out on the exercise field. Really, Jacques, are you trying to imply that Delphine should have gotten on that plane and gotten sick everywhere? Or worse, gotten all the other passengers sick?"

"I'm just saying," he said. "That our children seem to have a bad habit of giving up on things."

Laurent and I made eye contact. With no beard to hide his face now, I saw his jaw clench.

"I think she did the right thing," Laurent said. "The responsible thing."

My mother reached for my hand.

"Yes," she said. "She always was the responsible one."

I saw Cosima look at my mother's hand on mine and I realized she had no idea what we were all saying.

"So," I said in English. "This is Cosima's first time to Paris. We went la Place du Trocadéro this afternoon, to the Christmas Market."

"Yes!" Cosima said. "It was lovely! We don't really have anything like that in San Francisco. I mean, they decorate the city, but even a whole city can't compare to the Eiffel Tower all lit up with lights. And the market itself was so charming; all those smells and sounds, and the vendors. They were all so charming."

I thought my mother's smile couldn't get any bigger, stretching from ear to ear, and lighting up her face in excitement.

"And now," Cosima continued, turning her face toward me, "I feel so honored to be invited into your home, Delphine. To be able to spend this special time with your family. I feel like I've been welcomed into the private life of Paris, a sacred place that isn't available to just any average tourist."

She touched my hand just as my mother had done and for a moment, I forgot that my family was even there. For a moment, I was lost in Cosima's eyes, as if she had turned out the lights on the rest of the room, and it was only her in a spotlight. She winked at me, and I knew that she was there for me, to love me, even when those who are supposed to support me didn't.

"Well, you're most certainly welcome," my mother said. "And of course, we must thank Laurent for preparing this wonderful meal."

"Yes," Cosima said. I could tell she didn't want to turn away from, but she was trying to be polite. "Yes, of course."

"Oh," Laurent said. "It's nothing."

"Nothing like a man that can cook, right?" my mother said.

"Mother, please," I said.

"What?" she said. "It's a rare thing and not something to be laughed at. Cooking all the time is such a burden. It would be nice to have someone who can lighten the load every now and then."

I glanced around the table, and I was pretty sure that everyone was uncomfortable, including my father.

"Do you cook, Cosima?" my mother asked.

"Oh, not much these days," she said, nervously tucking a nonexistent hair behind her ear. "I'm too busy with my thesis and school and work."

"Then what do you eat?" my mother asked.

"Uh…" Cosima said. "Take out, usually."

"Well, see! What you need is a good cook like Laurent," she said.

"Mother," Laurent said. "This is no time for matchmaking."

"Oh, come on," my mother said. "This is the perfect time for matchmaking. It's Christmas!"

"Mother," Laurent repeated, this time more sternly. "You're embarrassing our guest."

"Besides," my mother continued. "What mother doesn't want to see her son with a lovely young lady, such as Cosima."

I felt a scream creeping up, boiling up from my stomach, caught up in my throat.

"She's beautiful," my mother said.

"Stop," Laurent said, putting his fork down.

"She's smart," my mother said.

"Mother, stop," I said, clutching my napkin in my fist.

"You have tons in common," my mother said, looking at Cosima. "I promise he hasn't stopped talking about you since we arrived."

Cosima bit her lip and nodded.

"You guys would make a perfect couple," she said.

I slammed my hand down. The vibration sent a tremor through the table, rattling glasses and plates and knocking my father's butter knife on to the ground.

"Mother!" I shouted. "Why must you insist on this imaginary romance between Laurent and Cosima? They are almost complete strangers! It's both heterosexist and chauvinist at the same time! You don't know anything about her, and perhaps even less about me. Why don't you just be quiet!"

My heart was beating wildly, so wildly, it was the only thing I could hear.

The table was quiet. My mouth was now shut up tightly. Laurent's face was red, and he looked down at his plate, his forearms resting on the edge of the table. My mother's smile melted quickly into an expression of shock. My father, who had only just looked up, bent over to retrieve his butter knife from the floor.

And though I couldn't see her, I knew Cosima was tense, her back straight, and her hand on her own face, sitting next to me.

"Heterosexist?" my mother said the word quietly and carefully. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Cosima cleared her throat.

I opened my mouth to reply, but then something unexpected happened.

"I'm gay," Laurent said, his head still down.

"Excuse me?" my mother said.

"What?" my father said.

"What?" I said, my eyes shooting to his face, scanning his features for any signs of mischief or deception.

What the hell does he think he's doing?

Laurent looked up. He laughed casually. He crossed his hands on the table, interlocking his fingers and then he said it again.

"I'm gay," he said, with a shrug of one shoulder. "You know. A homosexual."

My father set his silverware down on his plate, and the clink, clink was deafening.

"You must be joking," I said.

Always the center of attention!

"No," he said, still smiling. "This time I'm dead serious."

"Holy watershed," Cosima whispered under her breath.

"Homosexual?" my mother said.

Slowly, her brows, which were twisted up in confusion, relaxed into an expressed comprehension. She leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh. When she looked back up, her face had started to color red. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, scooted her chair away from the table and stood up.

"If you will excuse me," she said, slipping back into French.

"No, mother, wait!" I said, reaching for her hand.

He's not going to do this to me! I thought.

She looked down at me expectantly.

"What is it, Delphine?" she said.

"Please, sit down," I said.

"I'd rather not right now," she said. "I'm feeling a bit foolish and unwelcome at the moment."

"Fine," I said and I took a deep breath.

I rubbed at her hands with my thumbs. I looked at them, every detail suddenly imprinted on my mind; the veins, the wrinkles, the ligaments beneath her pale skin. I remembered how only a short while earlier, she had put her hand to my face in joy.

"Mother," I said, trying to muster up the same level of nonchalant courage that Laurent always had.

"Yes?" she said.

"Mother," I said again. "I'm also…"

But I stalled.

"Also what?" my mother said.

And she stared down at me for what felt like years and years, each timed out to the rhythm of my heart, which pounded in my ears and throat. I couldn't speak. I couldn't evern think about speaking. I just stared with my mouth open.

"She's also a great chef," Cosima said from behind me.

"A great chef?" my mother said, repeating the words in English.

"Yeah," Cosima said, putting her hand on my shoulder. "Which is one of the many reasons why I love her...why I fell in love with her. She's also pretty, and smart, and we have a lot in common."

"Oh?" my mother said, her head cocked to the side. "A lot in common?"

And then, "A lot in common! I see!"

She looked down at me with wide eyes. I bit my lip and expected the worst.

"Well," my mother said, with tears in her eyes. "It appears as though I don't know the slightest thing about my own children! What kind of mother am I? I think I'd better go!"

She pulled her hand away from me. Then she walked to the front door, grabbed her coat, turned the door knob and walked out.

The rest of us sat in silence, until finally Laurent turned to my father.

"Well?" he said. "Don't you have anything to say?"

"No," my father said.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He stroked his chin for a moment and regarded Laurent. Laurent met his gaze and leaned forward, as if daring my father to try and insult him. All the while, a cocky smile was plastered over his face. It was the same Laurent smile, the one he'd had his whole life, but this time, I was finally able to see through it.

That smile, I thought. That cocky smile. A mask. He's been wearing it his whole life.

"I'd better go talk to mother," he said finally, standing up from the table.

No one protested. In fact, no one said a word. No one even looked up from their plate.

Laurent walked off in a huff, leaving Cosima and I alone with my father.

Cosima looked at me out of the corner of her eye.

Thank you! I tried to tell her with my eyes.

She held my hand as we listened to the front door open and close for the second time. Laurent was gone.

"Well," my father said, "That explains why he liked being on boats with men for months and months at a time."

Neither Cosima nor I laughed.

"It also explains why you didn't get on that plane to Kenya," he said as he stood up.

I looked up at him then.

"Are you angry with me?" I said, almost unable to speak the words.

He sighed, his belly moving up and down heavily.

"Yes," he said. "Because it was a stupid waste of money. And you know I hate when my children throw away my money as if it grows on trees."

I looked away, my heart twisting up into knots and knots because I couldn't stand the idea of disappointing him.

"But," he said, "people in love often do stupid things."

He took a step toward Cosima, and placed his hand gently on her shoulder.

"I would have done the same thing," he said in English.

She reached up to where his hand was, and it was a surreal image to me, to see the two of them like that; him looking down at her, and her looking up; smiling at each other as if they had just shared a good joke.

"Welcome to Paris, Cosima," he said then. "We've heard so much about you."


	20. Chapter 20

What the fuck, Laurent? I thought.

I stood on my rooftop, a cigarette in my hand and a fire in my chest. The city still sparkled before me, but the night air was cold and the wind tousled my curls about my face, so that I had to keep brushing them away in frustration.

I was alone.

At the first opportunity, I had excused myself from the table, leaving Cosima downstairs with my father. I apologized to her with my eyes, but she waved me away with a flick of her wrist and a gentle shrug.

She is the sweetest woman, I thought. Sweeter and stronger than I will ever be.

I took another drag of my cigarette.

And what about Mother? I thought, remembering the embarrassed look on her face.

She wasn't trying to annoy me, I thought. Everything she said was harmless. Why couldn't I just ignore it? Why did I freak out? Why did I slam the table and shout? I've never shouted at anyone in my family! Ever!

I paced back and forth, holding my hair with one hand and my cigarette with the other.

And Laurent? I thought. Gay? Gay!? With that shit eating grin on his face!? Is everything a joke to him!?

Then I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and I paused. I turned my back away from the door and leaned over the low wall, looking out over the lights of the city.

This evening is nothing like I expected, I thought. Nothing like I wanted, and nothing like I expected.

I saw his shadow on the ground, and I knew it was Laurent, walking up behind me slowly. I heard the click of his lighter and his long exhale.

"So," he said to my back, "I guess I really messed things up back there."

"Well," I said, "you've always had excellent timing for these sort of things."

He let out a half-hearted laugh.

"How's Father?" he asked, leaning against the wall next to me.

"Surprisingly fine," I said with a shrug of my shoulder, still not looking at him. "How's Mother?"

"I think she'll survive," he said. "She's more embarrassed than anything else. As far as I can tell."

"I see," I said.

"I mean," he continued, "I don't think it's the gay thing that upset her, as much as...the delivery."

"Well, that's a relief," I said, but I felt no relief at all.

There was a moment of silence between us. We both puffed and puffed, our exhales speaking volumes between us. Mine was aggressive and loud, blown straight into the wind. His was muted and gentle, his face pointed down, the smoke directed at his feet.

"Look, Delphine," he said, and I felt him shift his body weight toward me. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" I said with a shrug, turning my face further away. "It all had to come out sometime, right?"

"Yeah, but not like this," he said.

Finally, I turned to look at him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I said, an embarrassed anger rising up, spreading from my throat to my ears.

This must be how Mother felt, I thought.

"This whole time," I continued. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"There was never the right time," he said.

"The right time?!" I shouted. "What about the time you told me you knew that Cosima and I were together?! What about the time you told me to cancel my trip to Kenya?! What about the time you saw us kissing in the street?! Or the time you and Cosima got high together?! Right here! On this roof! What about those times, Laurent?!"

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Why did it have to be at Christmas dinner? Why did it have to be right after I shouted at our mother like a spoiled child?" I said.

"I was trying to help," he said. "And you were right, she was being heterosexist and chauvinist. And clearly she doesn't know us, or she wouldn't have said those things. Clearly, she doesn't know me."

"Apparently, neither do I," I said.

"Look," he said. "I don't know if this whole thing is new to you, but I've been doing this a long time."

"What thing?" I said.

"This thing with you and Cosima," he said. "I mean, I don't remember you ever having a girlfriend before, or even talking about girls, so I'm guessing this is all new to you, right?"

I didn't respond.

"But this isn't new for me," he said. "I've been like this my whole life. I've known this feeling my whole life. And I've kept this inside of me for forever, like a whole other person, I've kept this other Laurent inside of me for forever. Every time you brought some nice guy home for mom and dad to meet, they always drooled all over you. They always adored you and made big plans for your wedding and your children. But me? I knew I could never have those things, or at least I used to think I never could, and slowly mom and dad stopped expecting them, too. Slowly, I just became the fuck up. Laurent, the Fuck Up! And it was okay. It was easier to be that, than to be Laurent, the poor homosexual who would never get married and never have children and never be happy. Does that make sense?"

I nodded my head, that yes, it did make sense.

"But you," he continued. "When you are with Cosima, you look so easy. There is no huge burden on your shoulders. No big secret. Even on the street, you were holding her hand and you were about to kiss her. And I guess...I guess, I just became self aware too early in my life. I guess society has changed, but inside I'm still just a teenager from the nineties; still afraid for my future and still ashamed of what people might think."

Laurent put another cigarette in his mouth, but when he brought the lighter up, it flicked and flicked but no flame came out.

"Here," I said, pulling a lighter out of my coat.

"Thanks," he said, taking the lighter and smiling weakly.

"And now?" I said, still a little annoyed. "Which Laurent are you, now?"

"Well," he said, "excluding the last hour of my life, I'm Happy, Well-Adjusted Homosexual Laurent."

"Why can't you just be...Laurent?" I said. 'Without all the other labels?"

"I'm trying," he said, nodding his head. "I'm trying."

He smiled and exhaled, and in his smile I could see an ocean of emotions that he had never shown before; a brightness in his smile, a twinkle in his eye, and a shyness in the way he held his shoulders and looked down at his feet, running the toe of his shoe along the bottom of the roof wall.

"Oh my god!" I said. "I can't believe this!"

"Believe what?" he said, that old mischief back in his blue eyes.

"You're in love?" I said.

He didn't say anything, but his smile grew twice as big. I nudged him with my elbow.

"Am I right?" I said.

"Yes," he said. "But don't say a word about it to Mother and Father. I think they've had enough revelation for one evening."

"Well?" I said. "What's his name?"

"Andrew," he said.

"Andrew?" I said. "You've got to be fucking kidding me. American?"

"Non," he said. "Canadian!"

"Thank god," I said. "Thank fucking god!"

"Anyway," Laurent said. "I met him years ago, so I found my foreigner first."

"So?" I said. "Is this Andrew a sailor?"

"Yes," he said. "We met on a crab boat."

"Huh," I said with a smile. "Father was right."

"I usually am," came a voice from the stairwell.

My father stepped out onto the roof, pulling a cigar out of his coat pocket as he walked toward us. Cosima was right behind him, with a bottle of wine in one hand, and several glasses in the other.

"This sailor," my father continued, "is he the one responsible for all this save the whales business?"

"Yes, actually," Laurent said.

"And does he use his own money for these ventures, or does he live off his parents?" my father asked.

"Oh, please, father," Laurent said. "Let's not talk about money anymore."

"Where's Mother?" I asked.

"She's cleaning up," Cosima said.

"Should we help her?" I said.

"No," my father said. "I don't think that's such a great idea. Let's give her some space."

Then my father bit the end off of the cigar.

"Besides, Cosima gave me this wonderful present, and I intend to smoke it without your mother's interference."

"I also have wine," Cosima said, raising the bottle and glasses.

We all huddled together to block out the wind. Cosima passed the glasses around, and then, after my father had poured wine for everyone, she set the bottle against the wall.

"Let's say a toast," my father said.

Cosima stood directly across from me, my father and brother stood on either side of me, and all of us raised our glasses high.

"To your mother!" my father said. "May she recover from the shock without too many new white hairs!"

We all drank to that with a smile on our faces, but when the glasses came down, there was a moment of awkward silence.

My father smacked his lips together loudly and sighed. Then he slipped his hand, the one holding the wine glass, into the crook of my elbow and threw his other hand, the one with the cigar, around Laurent's shoulders. Then he leaned forward and pulled us close.

"But on a serious note," he said. "I want you two to know... you are my children, and as such, you are perfect. Even if you were born with two noses for ears and an ear for a nose, you would still be perfect. And anyone who ever tells you different, you point them in my direction."

He pulled us into a hug then, and when I stepped away I saw tears in Laurent's eyes. He quickly brushed them away.

"I'll drink to that!" Cosima said, raising her glass.

My father looked up at her, taking a step closer to her, until his face was right up in hers.

"And that goes for you, too," he said, his voice aggressive but his message soft.

Cosima smiled. "Yes, sir!" she said.

We all took another drink, and our little circle relaxed a bit.

"So, dad," Laurent said after a beat. "I'm dying to know…"

"You're going to ask if I already knew?" he said.

"Well, yeah," Laurent said.

"You're my son," my father said. "I had a pretty good idea. Besides, when you guys were kids, you used to put on those little shows every Christmas, remember?"

"Oh, no!" I said. "Don't mention that!"

My father turned toward Cosima as Laurent and I hid our faces in our hands.

"They used to put on a show every Christmas, and every year, Laurent insisted on being the Virgin Mary," my father said.

"Because Delphine was too young. She had to play the baby!" Laurent protested.

"Laurent insisted on playing the Virgin Mary, even when Delphine got older," my father said. "His excuse was that he already had so much experience, so he should just keep the part."

"Delphine, defend me!" Laurent said. "It's because you were a baby. You wanted to be the baby!"

"I don't know," Delphine said. "All I can remember is being a wise man once."

"That's right!" my father said. "You wanted to wear the beard! I helped you make it out of little white cotton balls!"

"Right!" I said, suddenly remembering. "And I carried mother's jewelry box."

"Wait," Cosima said, raising her hand in the air. "Let me get this straight. You had a son dressed as the Virgin Mary and a daughter dressed as a wise man with a fake beard."

"Exactly," my father said. "Every year for about ten years or so!"

"Do you happen to have this on video anywhere?" Cosima asked.

My father's eyes lit up. "As a matter of fact, I think we do!"

"Oh my god," I said. "Please don't get out the videos. Please, I'm begging you."

"Yeah," Laurent said. "I veto the video idea."

"Oh, come on!" Cosima said, reaching for my hand. "I bet you guys are just perfect!"

"Of course they are," my father said. "They're my children."

He pulled us all into another hug, including Cosima.

We heard a cough come from the stairwell. My mother was leaning against the doorway. It was unclear how long she had been standing there, and it was unclear what the stoic expression on her face meant.

"They're my children, too," she said with her arms crossed.

Laurent and I exchanged glances. I swallowed hard.

My mother walked to my father's side and pulled his arm up over her shoulders.

"And if you're going to watch old videos, we can't forget the ballet recital," my mother said with a smirk.

"Wait!" Cosima said again. "What ballet recital?"

"Oh my god!" I said. "Mother, no!"

"No! No way!" Laurent shouted, waving his hands in front of himself.

"One year we put them both in ballet," my mother said.

"Both?!" Cosima said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"Yes, both in tights. Both in tutus," my mother said.

"Mother!" Laurent sighed in exasperation. "I didn't wear a tutu!"

"You did in the house. You stole Delphine's," my mother said.

"Oh, jesus!" Laurent said, turning away.

"So?" Cosima said. "What happened?"

"It only lasted one year," my mother said. "Not a bit of rhythm between the two of them."

"Oh, I have to see this!" Cosima said, looking from my mother's face to mine and back.

Cosima's eyes lit up like the city behind her, and her cheeks were red from the wind; red like the color of her coat; and she looked happy, free and light.

Next to her, my parents looked lighter, too; my father with a cigar between his teeth; my mother taking the wine glass from his hand and sipping at it with a smile.

Laurent returned to our huddle then, his cheeks redder than I've ever seen them, and a smile, a real smile, not the old cocky smile, spread from ear to ear. He took a puff of his cigarette and hid his eyes behind his hand, leaning back as he laughed at himself. When he brought his hand away from his face, tears sparkled in the corners of his eyes.

"It's true!" he shouted. "It's all true! Delphine, I stole your tutu!"

I laughed, too, and as I laughed I felt warm tears gathering in my eyes.

Soon we were all laughing and crying.

This evening is nothing like I expected, I found myself thinking again.

"Come on!" my mother said. "Let's go dig out those old videos!"

Nothing like I expected.


	21. Chapter 21

When all the presents were opened; when all the wine was drunk; when all the ballet recital videos were watched (on my mother's personal youtube channel); and all my embarrassed objections were ignored; finally, my parents picked up their coats, their eyes a little heavier, and their steps a little lighter, and they gave out hugs to each of us, my mother's eyes lingering on Cosima's face as she tilted her head to the side.

"It was nice to meet you, Cosima," she said.

She opened her mouth as if to add something else, but then thought better of it.

"I'll catch a cab," she said as she opened the door. "Joyeux Noël!"

And then, with a little wave of her hand, she was out the door and down the stairs.

My father, on the other hand, pulled Cosima into a great big hug, patting her back and thanking her for the cigar.

"Let us know if you are in town again," he said. "Even is Delphine is off saving the world somewhere."

"Will do," Cosima said.

With a tip of his hat, he followed my mother down the stairs.

And then, much to my surprise, Laurent picked up his coat as well. He must have noticed my confusion.

"I think I'll stay at mom and dad's tonight," he said.

"Oh," I said, following him to the door. "If you feel more comfortable that way."

I leaned on the door handle and watched him start down the stairs.

"Vous avez besoin d'intimité, peut-être?" he said with a wink and a smile. You need some privacy, maybe?

I mouthed the words, "Merci!" and waved.

I closed the door and I leaned my back against it, facing the room, facing Cosima, facing the reality of all the events that had unfolded that evening.

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair.

Cosima stood by the couch, her fingers fiddling with the fabric there, her legs crossed in front of her.

"Well," she said. "That was…"

"A disaster!" I said.

"No, not completely," she said, taking a step toward me.

"No, not completely," I agreed. "But I did manage to act like a complete idiot for a few minutes. And I nearly gave my mother a heart attack."

"Oh, well," Cosima said. "It's Christmas; there's always family drama on Christmas. It's, like, one of Newton's lesser known laws."

"I suppose," I said. "I just wish I could have done it differently. Knowing what I know now, I wish I could erase everything, right back to when we were standing outside and my mother hadn't opened the door yet. I wish I could go back to that moment and try again."

"Look," Cosima said, "I understand completely, but all in all, things turned out pretty well."

She stepped right up to me, pushing her hips against my hips and running her hands up my back.

"I mean," she said, "I did get to see you in a tutu, so not all was lost."

"Oh, God!" I said. "Don't remind me! Forget you saw it! Forget it! You must never speak of it!"

She wrapped her arms around my ribs and squeezed.

"No way!" she said. "I've already subscribed to your mom's channel."

"Magnifique," I said. "Just perfect."

Cosima kissed me, a little slow and a little sloppy, because of the wine and because of the late night. Then she rested head on my shoulder. We sighed together. I ran my fingertips along the baby hairs at the top her neck and rested my cheek on her head.

"So," I said. "Is everything okay...between us?"

She looked up at me then, and her smile faded a little.

"I'm not sure," she said. "My head is still kind of spinning."

"What I said before...back at the market..." I said, "I meant it."

Cosima didn't reply. She pursed her lips tightly and looked down.

She touched my stomach, running a finger over the fabric of my shirt.

"I know you meant it," she said, "but that doesn't make it any more realistic. It's not a question of intention."

"Then what is it?" I said, ducking my head down, trying to look in her face.

"I don't know," she said, taking a step away from me and raising her voice. "It's everything!"

She threw her hands up in the air in a tired gesture.

"Like what?" I said.

"I don't know...It's a question of finances and timing, and luck and, like, a million other variables that have nothing to do with our intentions. It's not so easy to just pick up and move to another country."

"Why not?" I said.

"Why not?" she said, taking another step back. "Well, visas for one thing. The USA doesn't exactly just hand out visas to anyone who wants one. You'd need to study or find a job."

"So I need to find a job? So what?" I said. "I'm highly educated and specialized. I should be able to find something. I don't understand why you are being so cynical about this."

"I'm not being cynical," she said, turning away with one hand on her hip and one hand pressed to her forehead. "I'm being realistic."

"Would you rather I didn't say it?" I asked. "Would you rather I take it back?"

I was kind of angry, and even though I didn't want to yell, the volume of air passing through my throat increased. I felt it burst out louder and faster than I had wanted.

"No," she said, looking at me. "No."

"Then what do you want?" I said.

"I just," she started, her hand still pressed against her forehead. "I just…"

I stood, my arms crossed, waiting for her explanation, my chest tight.

She doesn't want me to come? I thought.

And the thought set my heart into a panic.

"Oh my god!" I whispered. "I'm such a fool!"

"What?" Cosima said, confused.

"I'm so stupid!" I said, walking to the couch. "I just invited myself to your city, to your country, to your house. Without even asking you, I just invited myself, like a completely selfish idiot! Forget I said it. Just forget it."

I sat down with my head in my hands.

"No! No!" Cosima said reaching for my hands. "That's not what I was going to say!"

She sat down next to me.

"No?" I said.

"No," she said. "Of course, I want to live with you. Of course!"

"I don't understand then," I said. "I don't know why you are acting so negative."

"It's just," she started again. "Look, someone else made a similar promise to me once. Someone else promised that she loved me and wanted to be with me always, and we made plans together, and I made even more plans, my own private plans, in my own head, about what our future would be like, and then she changed her mind, and then all the plans just...evaporated. And it seems silly in retrospect, because, like, they were just ideas, right? Like, they didn't have any physical shape or mass, but God, they had gravity and value. Maybe it seems silly to mourn for ideas, but I did. Sometimes, I still do. Does that make any sense?"

"I think so," I said.

"I don't want to make any plans right now," she said. "Because I don't want to mourn them if they don't work out."

I hugged her hard again, and rubbed her back.

"I love you," I whispered.

She pushed her mouth against my shoulder.

"I love you!" she shouted, but her voice was muffled against my skin.

"Then trust me!" I yelled back, shaking her by her shoulders. "Let me make plans!"

"Fine!" she yelled back.

"Fine!" I said, grabbing her face between my hands and kissing her.

I felt her smile beneath my lips. She laughed into my mouth.

"And for my first plan!" I announced. "I plan to take you to my bed! And…"

I looked at my watch. It was already past midnight.

"And!" I continued, "I will pleasure you sexually until you pass out from exhaustion or until the sun rises! Whichever is first!"

She laughed, but I could tell that her heart was still heavy. I could tell by the way her shoulders slouched forward, and the way her chin tilted down, and the way she twiddled her fingertips together in her lap, looking down as she giggled half-heartedly.

I brushed away the baby hairs behind her ear. Then I leaned over and kissed the spot.

"Cosima," I said.

She looked up at me, her eyeliner smudged at the corners of her eyes.

"Yeah?" she said, still twiddling her fingers.

"I want to make plans with you," I said. "Nothing else in the world gives me more happiness than making plans with you."

"Me, too," she said.

"But, I promise to always be careful," I said. "I promise to not make promises that I can't keep. And I think...that is the best that I can do...that anyone can do, really."

"Okay," she said, leaning into my arms.

I held her for a moment, and then I felt her lips at my neck, biting softly. Then her breath was hot against my ear.

"Now," she whispered. "I hope one of those future plans of yours includes you in a tutu..."

"Never!" I shouted as she pushed me back onto the couch.


	22. Chapter 22

"No, but seriously," Cosima said, suddenly sitting up on the couch. "I want to dance with you."

"Right now?" I said. "It's Christmas Eve! No, not even. It's Christmas Day! We can't go out now!"

"Who says we have to go out?"

"You know I don't dance," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

She reached for my hands, and, sitting on the edge of the couch, she looked down at me. Her lips were stained red with wine and her eyeliner was slightly smudged at the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, come on!" she said. "It's just us. No one will see."

"But you'll see and I think I've had enough embarrassment for one evening," I said.

She ran her fingertip along my forearm, drawing goosebumps out over my skin.

"Please," she said. "I can't leave without one dance."

Though her intention was to tease me with her fingers, I also heard a sincerity in her voice; a sincerity thinly veiled in giggles, as her most sincere requests often were.

I let her pull me up by my hands. She pulled me up off the couch and led me toward the bedroom. I moaned and groaned the whole way, pretending to hate the idea. But she pulled me with all of her might and I followed, secret butterflies bouncing around in my stomach.

"Alright, alright," I said, pretending to drag my feet.

When we got to the bedroom, she tore into her bags, searching for something.

"What are you looking for?" I asked.

"My ipod," she said, pulling endless pairs of stockings out of her suitcase and dumping them on the floor.

"I have music," I said.

"No, no," she said, turning to look up at me. "There's this one song, you know? Whenever I hear it, I just get the 'feels.'"

"The 'feels?'" I said.

"Yeah, you know," she said. "Like, I just feel good, and it makes me wish I could see you."

"Oh," I said. "That's romantic."

Then she pulled her ipod out and raised it over her head in victory.

"Yes!" she said.

She stepped to my desk, leaned over the edge of it and reached for the computer. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her middle finger and bit at her lower lip. Seeing her like that, I felt a sudden pang of desire. It flashed up from my belly to the back of my neck.

I reached for the light switch and flicked off the light. Now, her face was all lit up in the blue hue of the computer screen.

I slipped up behind her, pushing right up against the back of her. But she wouldn't be distracted. She continued to fiddle with the computer. I watched the muscles between her shoulders, the ones that peaked out from behind the thin straps of her dress. They danced and rolled in the blue shadows, and I couldn't stop myself from reaching a hand out and stroking her from her neck down to her ribs, and once I got to her ribs, I let my hand drift forward, right around her rib cage, until I was cupping her breast.

At that, she squirmed and moaned beneath me, but still, she didn't stand up.

So, I leaned forward and kissed the back of her neck and wrapped both my hands all the way around her, so that she wouldn't have a choice but to stand up with me.

"There!" she said, victorious.

She leaned back into me and, as graceful as she is, she managed to twist in my arms until she was face to face with me and pulling my mouth to hers.

The music started. I could feel the atmosphere right away. There was a syncopated electric beat, and an electric guitar and a moody synth. Somehow, even from the first three seconds, I felt the 'feels' that she was talking about.

Just as the bass came in, she ran her hand up my chest, moving slowly, lingering in her touch and staring at my lips. But then she set her hand in my hand and wrapped the other one around my shoulders, and she swayed me side to side.

"There," she said. "See. This isn't so bad, is it?"

"No," I said. "Not at all."

The bass drum came in, and I felt her pulling me a little bit closer.

"You know what?" she said.

"No, what?" I said.

"I keep the bottle of wine on my nightstand," she said. "The Alpha Omega."

"Ah!" I said. "The cabernet sauvignon."

She blushed and looked down. "Yeah."

"Are you sure that's the safest place for it? That's a very special bottle of wine. You promised we would drink it together," I said.

"I know," she said. "That's why I keep it by my bed. You're gonna think I'm a total cheeseball, but, I like to look at it before I fall asleep. I like to imagine us, drinking it together."

"And how do you imagine us?" I said, running my finger in circles on her low back.

"Well," she said. "It changes."

"Mmhmm," I said.

"Like, right after you left," she started, "I almost always imagined us in bed together, the bottle would be open on the nightstand and there would be our two glasses and you'd be with me, and the sheets would be all messed up and the room would smell like sex; like, a lot of crazy sex."

"Mmm," I said. "That sounds nice. What else?"

"And then, sometimes, I imagine waking up in the morning, and putting the glasses in the sink and washing them as quietly as I can because you're still sleeping. I imagine making breakfast for you and coffee because you're probably hung over."

I laughed. "You are probably right."

"And, then," she continued. "Sometimes, when I'm out, at the convenience store or the market, I see that brand, Alpha Omega, and it always reminds me of you, and so now I imagine domesticated evenings, where you would call to ask me to pick up the Alpha Omega on my way home, and eventually we would have rows and rows of empty bottles lined up on the counter, and you would nag me to throw them away because you don't like the clutter, but I wouldn't be able to bring myself to throw them away because I would have lost track of which one was the first one, and the thought of throwing away the first one would be unbearable, you know?"

"Wow," I said quietly. "You imagined all that?"

"Yeah," she said. "You think I'm crazy, right?"

"Not at all," I said, touching her cheek. "It sounds perfect."

Then, to my surprise, she touched my cheek, too. It was an uncommon move for her. Her face was all earnestness.

"So, you see," she said, "I'm kinda always making plans."

"I see," I said.

"Don't break my heart," she said. "Delphine, don't say you're coming and then break my heart. Because if you say you're coming, I will write entire novels in my head about our future; entire trilogies with epilogues and multiple appendixes, and my heart will believe all of them."

Her mouth twisted to the side, the way it did when she was biting back tears.

I shook my head and smiled.

"I won't break your heart, Cosima," I said. "I will never. I mean, this is it, right? The beginning and the ending?"

"Yeah," she said. "Definitely."

I pulled her close to me and kissed her mouth. She leaned up, and grasped at my shoulders, holding me there a little bit longer, holding her mouth on mine a little bit longer, and though I needed to breathe, I couldn't break the kiss.

Then she pulled away and smiled.

"Now," I said. "Tell me more about this bottle on the night stand. What exactly were we doing in the messy sheets? I want more specifics."

"Well," Cosima said, "there was a little of this…"

She kissed my neck.

"And," she continued, "a little of this…"

She wrapped her hands behind herself and grabbed mine, and then, she guided my hands down to her ass. I laughed and squeezed her.

"And," she said, taking a step back from me, "there was a lot of this…"

She pulled her dress up over her head and tossed it to the floor in a heap. Then she leaned back against the desk.

"I think I like this plan," I said.

I stepped toward her and reached around her, taking off her bra. She watched me with her mouth open and her tongue in her cheek.

"Was there any of this?" I asked, bending over to kiss her shoulder.

"Yes," she said. "Obvs."

"And this?" I said, taking a breast in each hand.

"Yes," she said, with her head tilted back. "Most definitely."

She spread her legs wider and moaned, and I was overcome with an urge to bite her.

"I bet you didn't imagine this," I said

I knelt between her legs and reached for her hand.

"What?" she said.

I brought her wrist to my mouth, and I bit her lightly, feeling her warm flesh give way beneath my teeth. She squeezed her thighs tight against my arms and gasped.

"No," she said. "I didn't imagine that."

Then I bit the top of her forearm, the spot just below the elbow, the place with the most muscle and fat. Her skin was salty in my mouth. She ran her hands through my hair and locked her heels behind my back.

"Here," she said, bringing her other wrist to my mouth.

I bit her there, harder this time, testing her limits. She squeezed me with her legs and her hips began moving in circles against the table.

"Here," she said touching her own neck.

I stood up and bit her there. She shivered beneath me.

"Here," she said, and her voice was barely a whisper.

She grabbed her own breast, the nipple erect beneath her fingers.

I took her nipple into my mouth, sucking first, then nibbling timidly. She moaned and grabbed me by the back of the head. She pulled me against her with her hands and she pushed her whole chest toward me.

"Bite me," she said.

I took took her nipple right between my teeth and I bit, ever so slightly and then let her go. She cried out, and her hips moved in more aggressive patterns against the desk. I bit her again. She bucked against me.

My desire drove me up. I stood and naturally, her legs locked around my waist. I lifted her up, surprising her and myself. We laughed.

But not for long, because it only took a moment to carry her over to the bed. It only took a moment to lay her on her back; only a moment to grab her nylons and roll them all the way down to her toes, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

I pulled off my own clothes in a series of graceless, desperate motions.

And then I was on her, biting at her thighs and stomach. She shivered beneath me and she tangled her hands in my hair, breathing heavy and grinding her hips against me - any part of me. When I bit her neck or her breasts, she ground herself against my stomach. And when I bit her stomach, she ground herself against my chest. And when I moved up to bite her ears and her cheeks and her lips, she ground herself against my thigh, grabbing me by my ass and pulling me down. And finally, when I moved down, to bite the inside of her thighs, she grabbed me by the ears and pulled me to her clit. Her aching was palpable. And so was mine.

I had not had a chance to taste her, not like this, not since I had left her in that hotel room. We had not been alone, after all. I had not had the chance to make her scream; to make her writhe against me; to make her shake and wail. I had not had the chance, and now I was relishing it. She moaned and choked, and so did I. Her orgasm was approaching fast and intense, because she bucked against me and it was hard for me to breathe. I reached up and grabbed her hand, moaning against her body just as she put a pillow to her face and moaned against it.

Then, finally, she arched her back, lifting all her weight up onto her legs and she held herself like that, her thighs shaking, and with one long, throaty cry she came hot against me, covering my chin and neck with hot liquid that ran down my chest. Then she collapsed back onto the bed.

I wiped at my face and laughed.

"Wow!" was all I could think to say.

"I'm sorry," she said, breathless and not sorry at all.

"Don't be," I said. "I liked it."

And it's true. I did like it. I liked it so much that I pushed her legs apart and moved close to her again. Whether it was spurred by curiosity or desire, or a mixture of both, I began licking her, tasting her all over, inside and out. She relaxed against the mattress and let her legs fall lazily to the side, with one arm draped over her eyes and her face turned away from me.

I liked the way she tasted. I missed it. Lord knows, I had thought about it, dreamed about it, woke up in the middle of the night craving for it. And now here she was, and I needed to satiate myself enough to last until the next time we could meet.

I took my time. I moved slowly, inquisitively. I wanted to know what she liked. I listened to the way she moaned; a high, breathy sigh when I touched her clit; a throaty moan when I licked her in long, languid strokes; a surprised giggle when I moved down toward her ass. But the one thing that brought out her long, chesty, baritone - the moan that came from the base of her spine - that moan was only elicited when I pushed my tongue as deep inside her as I could, and she lifted her hips up to meet me.

She moaned again, a deep, deep moan, and her hips moved in steady, confident circles.

"Delphine," she said. "Come here."

I crawled up and laid on top of her.

"It's too much," she said and she wrapped her arms around my shoulders, holding me still.

"Okay," I said.

And I laid on top of her, and I could still feel her hips moving beneath me; moving on their own, releasing months of tension, too much tension to release all at once. I understood why she felt overwhelmed.

Distantly, I heard the same intro to the same song that she had asked me to dance to.

Is this the same song? I thought. How many times has it played and how come I didn't notice?

But there was no mistake. It was the same song, the same eccentric beat, the same moody synth, the same funky bass and sexy minor chords.

She is loading this song with our bodies, I thought. She is taking an auditory snapshot. Clever girl.

Just then, just as my body was relaxing heavy against her, and my mind was wandering to other things, she flipped me over.

"Lay on your stomach," she said.

"What?" I said.

"On your stomach," she said. "I want to give you a massage."

"If you give me a massage I might pass out," I said.

"That's fine," she said.

I did as she said and rolled onto my stomach. She straddled me, and I have to admit that I was pleasantly surprised when I felt her, hot and wet, against my ass.

I laughed.

"What's so funny?" she said.

"Nothing," I said.

She leaned forward and rubbed at my shoulders and back. She rubbed against the muscles between my shoulder blades and all down my spine, and I was impressed with her strength and precision.

"Wow," I said. "You might have another career option if the Academy doesn't work out."

"Oh, yeah?" she said.

"Yeah," I said between moans. "Where did you learn to massage like this?"

"I didn't," she said. "Not really. I mean, I had to memorize all the muscle groups of the human body in anatomy, so…"

"Yes, but," I said, "a lot of people have to take anatomy and not everyone can do…"

I moaned as she dug her thumbs into the stiff muscles of my lower back.

"It's easy, see," she said and she moved her hands up to my neck. "Here are the trapezius muscles, which connect the upper arms and scapula to the neck and spinal column."

"Yes, that sounds familiar," I said, trying to recall my own anatomy class.

She moved her thumbs against my neck, and then in circular motions, she made her way down either side of my spine to the middle of my back.

"And here," she said, moving her hands outward, toward the sides of my rib cage, "here are the latissimus dorsi muscles, which are the largest muscles in the back, and are used to lift the arms and to rotate the scapula during shoulder extensions, but they also play a large role in the lateral flexion of the lumbar spine."

I giggled beneath her, because as she recited every word, as accurate as a textbook, she also rubbed her thumbs into my muscles in sensual motions, her hips rocking, almost incidentally, against my ass.

"How can you remember all this?" I said.

"These are the two of the major muscle groups of the back" she said. "It's not that impressive."

Then she traced her fingers up the sides of my rib cage, right up to my armpits and I squirmed.

"And here," she said. "Is where the latissimus dorsi attaches to the humerus."

I laughed.

"See!" she said, tickling the insides of my arms. "That's why it tickles! Humerus? Get it?"

"Yes!" I said. "Please stop!"

She relented and leaned back. I relaxed back into the pillow a little bit, but not completely, because I had a feeling she had some other mischief planned.

A moment later, she shifted her weight and scooted back, until she was sitting on the tops of my thighs. I felt her palms push into my low back.

"And here," she said, "are the erector spinae, and just below that…"

She moved her palms down, down.

"...are the the gluteus maximus muscles," she said and she pressed her palms hard against my gluteus maximus muscles. "They are the largest and strongest muscles in the entire body."

She massaged me for a few lovely minutes, and I really did start to drift off, thinking of the unopened bottle in Cosima's apartment, feeling affection for that inanimate object and wishing to see it again.

But then, Cosima shifted her weight again, settling her knees between my legs, and I felt her dreads tickling against my low back.

"Cosima," I said sleepily, "What are you…?"

Then I felt her tongue, hot against the base of my spine, and trailing down between my gluteus maximus muscles. I clenched my legs together, and she giggled. She rubbed her palm against my ass.

"Relax," she said.

"I can't," I said. "I mean, I've never. I mean, I don't know!"

I buried my face in the pillow, still clenching my whole body. She continued to kiss across my low back. I felt her breast resting on the back of my thigh. I laughed into my pillow and my body was trembling. I was scared, in a good way.

"If you don't like it," she said. "I'll stop."

"Okay," I said, shouting my consent into the pillow.

I pulled the pillow tightly against my face and rested all my upper body weight onto my forearms.

"Try to relax," she said, kissing down, down, down.

I felt so embarrassed; incredibly embarrassed; as embarrassed as a bad dream where I show up to high school with no pants on and everyone is laughing.

I was shaking; uncontrollably. The shivers she had given me on the night we met were nothing to this. If those were shivers, then these were tremors, wildly out of control, and borderline psychotic. My muscles seemed to contract of their own free will.

I either had to stop her, or let her take me over. But as she kissed down the middle of my ass, I held my breath, too curious to stop her, too aroused to even consider it.

Then I felt her tongue, right there, a bundle of nerves, and my head shot up from the pillow. It took all of my willpower to not crawl away from her. I stayed very still. I paid attention. Yes, I gave her all of my attention. Every sense, every nerve, every impulse was focused on that one spot , and the sensations that she was creating with her tongue and mouth. It was an intense focal point of pleasure that I had not experienced before, and that pleasure radiated out, across my low back and deep into my pelvis.

And still, I didn't move. Still, I could hardly breathe.

Then, she reached her hand between my legs and slipped her fingers inside me, wasting no time to find her rhythm.

My eyes rolled way back into my head, and finally, I let out the most absurd, animalistic moan. My head fell into the pillow and my hips began moving, grinding down against the mattress.

And after that moment, I was with her, or rather she was with me, I'm not sure. But we were together. She was doing something to me that felt completely autonomous, as if the sensations were creating themselves, as if they had always been there, dormant and were only waiting for someone to coax them out.

And there she was, coaxing. Always coaxing.

Fucking Cosima, I thought. This fucking perfect little...fucking...fuck!

"Fuck!" I shouted and I raised myself back up onto my arms.

Then she was on my back, her fingers still inside me and she was grinding down against me and biting at my neck. She wrapped her free arm beneath my armpit and across my chest and neck, nearly strangling me in her grasp. I didn't care. I turned my face toward her and she bit at my cheeks and ears, but I wanted her mouth.

For a moment, the song stopped and restarted and our voices rang out in the interim silence. Our voices rang out at shocking volumes and ever after, I could not hear that song without hearing our cries infused between the beats. But then the song started up again, and we matched the bass, and the headboard matched the bass, too.

I can't even remember the orgasms, but I'm sure there were many. What I remember is the falling, face first, into the pillow. What I remember is the feeling of complete exhaustion, the heavy breathing, the weight of Cosima on my back and the way her hips still moved, almost dreamily, against me. I remember that she brushed my hair to the side and laid her head between my shoulder blades. I remember she stretched her arms out over mine, and that her fingers came up short, reaching only just past my wrists. Then she curled her toes against my calves and giggled.

"You're so long!" she said.

"Did you just notice?" I asked.

"I could fall asleep like this," she said.

"Go ahead," I said, and still the song repeated in the background.

She was quiet for a while and her body grew heavier against my back. I thought she might have really fallen asleep. But then she spoke.

"Delphine?" she said. "Do you think we are crazy?"

"Maybe," I said. "Why?"

"Because, if you calculate the actual hours we've spent together, it's little more than a week," she said.

"Wow," I said. "That seems very hard to believe."

"But it's true," she said. "An undeniable fact."

"Undeniable," I repeated.

"Is that enough time to know?" she said. "To really know?"

"To know what?" I said.

"I don't know," she said. "Like destiny and all that bullshit. Like, are you really going to rearrange your life, for a stranger?"

"Cosima," I said. "You just licked my asshole. I'd say that makes you the quintessential opposite of a stranger."

She laughed and smacked my hip.

"You know what I mean!" she said.

"Alright," I said. "So, it hasn't been a lot of actual hours together, but those hours have been very full...very rich...almost saturated with experience. What are a thousands days filled with unnoticeable routine compared to a handful of days filled with intense joy… love… laughter… sex? I don't think it is a question of time. I think it is a question of intensity."

"Intensity…" Cosima said, and I could hear her turning the word over in her mind.

"Time is relative anyway, right?" I said, my mind drifting into esoteric territory. "I mean, sometimes it takes millennia to raise a mountain range, and sometimes, if there is enough pressure and force, it can happen in a moment."

"Hmm," she said. "That's true. But the inverse is also true. Sometimes it takes millions of years for a mountain to wear away, and sometimes it crumbles all at once."

"So? There is nothing wrong with that, either," I said. "The idea that steady progress should accrue within a prescribed allotment of time is only a concept of the human mind, and I don't think that love falls within the realm of the human mind."

She sighed and pressed her lips hard against my back.

"I love you," she said.

"Hey," I said, leaning back. "Hey, wait a minute. I want to see your face."

She rolled off of me and I turned around so that we were lying face to face, our knees pulled up and touching. I grabbed her hands and held them close to my heart.

"Cosima," I said. "I have never loved anyone like this before."

She stared at me, but didn't say a word.

"Sorry," I said. "Was that too intense?"

"No," she said. "It was just…"

"Don't you feel the same?" I said, and for a moment I thought she might disagree.

"Yeah," she said, finally. "Yes, very much."

"Then, who cares about time?" I said. "Look, I can't promise that I will get to San Francisco right away. We both know that that isn't realistic. But I can promise that I will get there, even if it takes years."

"I'd prefer if it didn't," she said.

I laughed. "Me, too."

I touched her cheek, and then kissed her forehead. I took a deep breath, knowing this was one of the last times I could kiss her and smell her and hold her. Then I pulled her into a hug, and we settled into the bed, her with her head on my shoulder. I played with the little hairs on her forehead and we both fell into a silence. The song still played in the background, but both of us were too exhausted to get up and turn it off.

"You're my beginning," I whispered, already half asleep.

She squeezed me, as if she had just been roused from sleep.

"You're my beginning," she repeated, but then her fingers relaxed almost immediately against my arm.

We fell asleep like that, passing the last few hours of the night in each other's arms, our last words hanging in the air.

And when we woke up to the sound of her vibrating phone, we prepared for her departure with an uncanny sense of optimism. And when she left me at airport security, the only tears we cried were happy tears, because we both knew; this was only the beginning.

This was only the beginning and we were both free to imagine the next chapter; free to dream, even, that an ending didn't exist.


End file.
